


Don't Cry Over Spilled Coffee

by Vagabond



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mostly trying to go for those hallmark movie vibes u know, beach au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24540073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: Anthony Crowley's life is turned upside down when his financial management firm lets him go for less-than-legitimate reasons. Disgraced and frustrated, he leaves London and travels to the coast of California, to a little beach town called Tadfield, where his late mother kept a beach house. Little does he know there's a lot more in store for him in Tadfield than he first anticipated, especially after he meets a sweet, curly haired bookseller who, for a Someone-awful reason, seems to like him.There's kites, and coffee, and a couple crises as Crowley learns there might be more to life than the fast paced flash of London.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 253
Kudos: 350
Collections: Good AUmens AU Fest, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. I'm so excited to share this piece with everyone. A non-secret about me is that I absolutely love the beach. I grew up not far from the Oregon Coast, which a lot of this is based off of, fused with my experiences going to school in Southern California. Tadfield is a mix of my beach experiences, and I hope you enjoy reading about it as much as I've enjoyed crafting it. 
> 
> There's a couple shout-outs before we get into it! First, thanks to [Mirror's Artwork](https://twitter.com/mirrorsartworks) for the snazzy banner. They are a dream to work with, so go commission them! Second, my beloved [coveredincrumb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiftoftime/pseuds/coveredincrumb) who continues to dutifully beta...even when she's doing it on her laptop, off of phone wifi, in a car on a road trip. I don't deserve her. 
> 
> I will be posting weekly on THURSDAYS! It is so nice to be hanging out with readers again. I've missed you.
> 
> Enjoy.

Anthony Crowley wasn’t made for small town life. He was a successful financial manager who owned a condo in Mayfair and called London home. At least, he had. At 44 years of age he was quite content with his hustle and bustle life, one filled with deadlines and financial partners with sharp toothed smiles. He liked slipping into clubs at night in his tightest trousers looking for companionship. 

Now? Now he was stuck sitting on some railing, looking over a long stretch of sand toward the west where the Pacific churned beneath the setting sun. 

_“It is time for you to move on,” Gregory, one of the partners, insisted. “You’ve done good work for us, Anthony, but your...life choices have left us in a bit of a bind. Our clients run on the conservative end of things. You understand, right? If you had kept it on the down-low, perhaps this could have turned out better.”_

He scoffed and tore off his sunglasses, rubbing at his eyes before he put them back on his face. Crowley had made the mistake of going to a different sort of club for once. A friend suggested he was too old for the typical spots and that he should try something a little more upscale. Unfortunately for him, he ended up in bed that night with one of his associate’s clients, whose wife caught them. 

To save face, the client had put the blame on Crowley. He’d concocted a whole story and Crowley ended up on the other end of a severance package. They’d cashed him out, given him a year’s salary, the bonus, and some of his stock options. But they sent him on his way lest he give the company a bad look. 

That was how he ended up in Tadfield, in a ramshackled beach house up in a neighborhood on a cliff. The beach house belonged to his mother, a long ago purchase from her time spent in America when Crowley was a baby. He’d spent only a little time in California before. The house had sat empty for a long time after they moved to England, and she passed away. He had almost sold it as-is about ten years back, but decided against it. 

It was a good thing he hadn’t, because there was no way he could show his face in London anytime soon. Too many people knew about his tryst, and the people he had once considered friends deserted him when he no longer held a fancy job title. 

“Fuck ‘em,” he told a seagull that landed a few feet away and hopped over to him. “They can all just...go fuck themselves.” 

The seagull crooned at him and he shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t have anything for you.” 

It hopped away, disappointed, just like he was. 

Tadfield wasn’t a terrible town to be stuck in by any means, despite the dark cloud that followed Crowley around. It lay on a long stretch of coast about forty five minutes northwest of Santa Barbara. The Pacific Coast Highway cut through the town, separating the beaches and cliffs from the main street lined with shops and parks. 

It was idyllic, the sort of place someone would put on a postcard. It was definitely not the sort of place Crowley expected to be. 

In a single day he had traversed the majority of the town, putting on the airs of someone passing through so that others would leave him alone. There was an ice cream and sweets shop with an attached espresso place, a restaurant that doubled as an inn with rooms above and food served below, a place to rent surfing equipment or other beach going nonsense, a book shop, and a handful of other boring spots typical of a small coastal city. 

At the end of his trek he got back into his rented Toyota Prius and drove down the highway, turning on Eden Drive to follow the winding road up to the clifftop community. It wasn’t a gated community, technically. Really, it was a bunch of beach houses of varying character that had been connected by winding and oftentimes gravel roads. 

The sign at the start of the neighborhood greeted him every time: _The Garden_. Eden. Haha, it was funny. Crowley rolled his eyes every time as he pulled into the driveway for #66. The side of it that faced the gravel road wasn’t much to look at. It had wind-worn wood, tired shingles, and a rotting welcome mat in front of the door. He got out of the car and dug his keys out of his pocket, letting himself into the house. 

A long hallway led to a living space. What had once been a closed off kitchen had one of the walls knocked out of it in a half-assed attempt to start working on an open concept. It needed work. All of it did, really. Crowley had tried turning the heater on the first night when the temperatures dropped and it sputtered and died out. Thankfully, he found a stack of blankets in the closet, but it would need to be fixed. 

The living area, which consisted of a den two steps down and a dining room area with an old table and chairs, was lined with large bay windows. One of them was cracked, the others caked with salt from sea spray. He forced open the sliding glass doors and stepped onto a wrap-around deck that overlooked the sea. The back of the house was perched near the edge of the cliff and he could stand and lean on the half rotted railing and stare out at the Pacific. 

It was the nicest part of the house, despite the rot, and the moss, and what he was quite certain was a family of raccoons living under the deck.

He headed back inside, turning on a lamp as he went. In the den were two old sofas draped with dusty quilts. There was a bulky television connected to a VHS player. Off of the den was a bathroom with a cramped shower. Next to that was what he assumed should be a guest room, but lacked a bed or any sort of amenities. It was empty aside from an old box fan and a few cardboard boxes. 

Up the stairs, which he took two at a time, was the master bedroom and an ensuite bath. The bedroom was drafty, thanks to a wall of windows that overlooked the sea, and he was already trying to figure out how to put up curtains. The bed was old and creaked whenever he shifted, leaving him restless. He dropped onto the edge of the bed and stared out at the remaining beams of light sinking beneath the horizon. 

His chest ached. None of this was home, but he would have to make do. It was only temporary, anyway, until the whole kerfuffle at his work blew over. He’d find another job and move back to his Mayfair apartment, and life as it was. 

He had to. If he had to stay in Tadfield more than a few months he was quite certain he would lose his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [Tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) in between!
> 
> I also feel like it is important to say that my heart is with the Black Lives Matter movement, and all of the folks out protesting even in the midst of a pandemic. Fanfic is a way to escape, but it is important not to lose touch completely with what's going on in the world outside. Stay safe, my loves.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets to know some of the locals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh hello again. It is so lovely to see you all, readers both new and old following me to this fic! C: Thanks for the warm reception in the first chapter. Chapter 2 is a little longer, and more typical of what the chapters will be! And Crowley gets to finally meet some of the locals. 
> 
> Be safe. Be loved. Enjoy.

A week in, the coffee girl figured out his name. 

“Mr. Crowley. You want six shots over ice, right?” 

He scowled at her. Crowley hadn’t even gotten two feet in the door before she was smiling and talking to him. He let the door jingle shut behind him as he strode up to the counter. 

“It is just Crowley,” he groused. “And yes.” 

“Coming right up.” Coffee Girl looked to be barely twenty years old, with long, dark, wavy hair that cascaded down her back. That day, some of it had been pulled up into a bun at the back of her head. She had round glasses and liked to wear clothes Crowley imagined she found in someone’s nan’s closet, though the black lace shirt she’d chosen for the day actually suited her. 

Crowley fiddled with the pen on the counter as the espresso machine buzzed in the background. Coffee Girl’s shop was called Identity Crisis Coffee and Sweets, which really was apt. Aside from the espresso bar, she operated an ice cream counter, and all around the shop were buckets of sweets like taffy and the old butterscotch candies that, again, were likely found in someone’s nan’s closet. 

Pursuers of such things could enjoy their takes at round, high tables peppered throughout the floor space. The shop itself was cheerfully lit, with beach decor on the walls. When he grew bored with the pen he wandered over to one of the photographs framed on the wall. It was black and white, a picture of a family on the beach flying kites. 

“That’s my great grandmother,” Coffee Girl pointed out. “Agnes Device. She started the sweet shop when she was an adult as a cover for her occult shop.” 

“Her what?” Crowley turned and nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized Coffee Girl had appeared beside him. She held out his coffee and he accepted it. 

“Occult shop. We’re a family of occultists. I keep it going, when I’m not manning the shop. I offer tarot readings, tea leaves. I have quite a collection of New Aquarian magazines that people are allowed to peruse.” She left his side and returned to the counter, ringing up his order. “Comes to two fifty.” 

At least coffee was cheaper in Tadfield than it was in London. He tossed her a fiver -  _ five dollars _ , he reminded himself - and dumped the change in the tip jar. “I don’t think I’ll ever need a tarot reading.” 

Coffee Girl shrugged. “You might be surprised. I’m Anathema, by the way. Anathema device.” 

“That is a hell of a name.” 

“Yeah, well, my great grandmother technically named me. She left a book of weird prophecies behind, and apparently one of them was for my mom to name me Anathema.” 

“You’ve got a strange family.” 

“You don’t know the half of it. What’s your name, Mr. Crowley? Or should I just keep calling you that?” 

“Just Crowley is fine.” 

“Just Crowley?” Anathema’s eyes twinkled and Crowley rolled his. 

“Crowley.” 

“Oh, right, got it. Well, Crowley, welcome to Tadfield. Are you here long?” 

He tipped his coffee in recognition of her and then took a sip and walked toward the door. As he pushed it open he turned and peeked at her over his sunglasses. “Hopefully not.” 

Crowley knew he should be looking for employment. He should be working on the house, too, to make it liveable and eventually sell it. There were a lot of things he ought to be doing, to be successful, to stay on top. But for the moment, in the middle of June, he wanted to walk alongside the beach and indulge in a good coffee soaked sulk. 

He sipped his coffee as he went, looking between the road and the ocean, wondering how anyone could live in such a boring little town. There were no honking horns, no shouts, no men and women in suits scurrying from one place to the next. On the contrary, everyone seemed relaxed, at ease. 

Dull. 

With a sigh, he hopped over the railing and slipped out of his flip-flops. The one thing he had managed to embrace was the casual beach attire, grateful to no longer be stuck in suits and ties that needed to be constantly dry cleaned and hung up. He could wear board shorts and a Queen t-shirt and no one would give him a second look. 

In one hand he held his coffee and in the other, he looped his fingers through the straps of his flip-flops as he wiggled his toes in sun kissed sand. It was warm, the beach clean of debris and trash, so he began his trek toward the ocean. 

What he did not expect, nor see coming, was the kite taking a nosedive out of the sky straight into the hand holding his coffee. He watched as in slow-motion the nose of the neon kite struck the paper cup and it fell from his hand, hitting the sand, the lid flipping off. His iced coffee leaked out as he looked between it and the kite now on the ground at his feet, slightly crumpled. 

“That’s ours!” A young voice called out and Crowley glanced up to find a boy no older than twelve approaching, running on bare feet, with a small gathering of children behind him. He had golden curls and a big grin. The boy skidded to a stop in front of him, picking up the kite. “Sorry, Brian isn’t the best at handling yet.” 

“I am too,” Brian griped. “Wensleydale just distracted me!” 

“Actually, you got distracted by a seagull. I just pointed out it was going for your sandwich.” Another boy in glasses, presumably Wensleydale, defended himself. 

“You’re all ridiculous,” a girl with black, tightly curled hair insisted. “Adam should be the one to fly it. He’s going to be the one to do it for the festival anyway.” 

“Everyone should know how!” The blonde boy - Adam, apparently - insisted. “What if I get sick the day of? We’ll still want to enter our kite.” 

“Your kite is looking a bit buggered,” Crowley pointed out. 

Adam offered him a carefree smile. “This is our practice kite. We wouldn’t show our actual kite yet! Plus, it is still a work in progress.” 

“Yeah. We can’t have Greasy Johnson and his gang stealing our idea.” The girl crossed her arms over her chest and scowled like someone who had made an effort to perfect a scowl. 

“Pepper is right,” Brian said. “Our actual kite is top secret.” 

“Children!” Another voice came from somewhere behind them, sounding slightly out of breath. Crowley looked past the children and blinked. Coming up toward them was a man who looked about his age, maybe a few years older, with curls that were nearly white. Those curls poked out from beneath a large brimmed sun hat with what appeared to be tartan ribbon wound around it. 

He was a thick fellow, strong thighs and calves flexing beneath seersucker shorts that were unfairly clingy. On top he was wearing a white, short sleeve button-up that left Crowley at a severe disadvantage because one look at the long lines of his arms bowled him over. He had a soft middle, accented by the tuck of the shirt, and by god he was wearing  _ braces _ . 

Crowley was going to faint. He stared at the kind face as surprised blue eyes stared back. “Oh,” the stranger said, with the slightest hint of an accent. 

“Er.” Crowley wasn’t sure what to say and the children, seeming to understand something strange was happening, were silent. Finally, Adam spoke up. 

“Mr. Fell, the kite went out of control.” He held it up. “Part of the frame was bent.” 

“And it knocked over my coffee,” Crowley unhelpfully supplied, his brain unable to think of anything else except the gorgeous man in front of him. He could even look past the terrible brown sandals he was wearing. 

“Oh dear.” Mr. Fell looked around at the children, then at the kite, and finally at Crowley with a bit of a bewildered expression. Then it morphed into a smile, the sort of smile that could knock the breath right out of any red blooded man with even the slightest interest in other men. Because when Mr. Fell smiled, it took over his whole face, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, his cheeks lifting, teeth flashing. “I’m sorry, we all get a little carried away sometimes.” 

“It - uh. It's alright.” He swallowed and then tried to wet his lips. Why was his mouth so dry? Was Mr. Fell blushing?

“Why don’t you kids run along, hm? Take the kite to your father, Adam. He should be able to get the frame right as rain again.” Mr. Fell ruffled Adam’s hair. 

“Okay! We’ll see you later. You’ll come by to help us with our kite, right?” 

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

The children said their goodbyes, Wensleydale throwing in an apology for knocking his coffee over, before they took off. Crowley listened to their laughter as it faded into the distance and the kids slipped out of sight. 

“I’m really sorry about your coffee.” Mr. Fell was still smiling, but it was a bit more sheepish at that point. “We weren’t expecting anyone to be on the beach. It is a bit early, usually we only have to worry about joggers.” 

“Er, well.” He glanced at his lost coffee and then reached down to retrieve the remains of the cup, lid, and straw. “I suppose I could always get another one.” 

“Oh, please. Let me. I’d be happy to buy, since I was supposed to be supervising. Did you get it at Identity Crisis?” 

Crowley wanted to ask him where else he could have possibly gotten it, but something about the genuine care on Mr. Fell’s face compelled him to be kind. He took a breath, let it out, and then nodded. “I did.” 

“Excellent. Oh - I should introduce myself though, shouldn’t I. I’m Aziraphale Fell, owner of Fell and Co Books.” He held out his hand and Crowley took it. It was warm and just a little sweaty, likely from running around on a beach, but his skin was soft and he noticed his fingers were well kept. 

Crowley realized he was still holding on when Aziraphale cleared his throat politely. 

“Ah, Crowley. Anthony Crowley, but you can just call me...Crowley.” He let go of Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Crowley. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances! However, I think it should be easy enough to remedy.” 

“Sure. Right. Yeah. Coffee.” He grimaced. Why did his brain have to shut down? Had it really been that long since he’d been near someone he found attractive? 

Despite his awkwardness, Aziraphale seemed content to walk off the beach and to the sidewalk, pausing to let Crowley put his flip-flops on. 

“Have you been in Tadfield long?” Aziraphale asked as they began their trek to Identity Crisis Coffee and Sweets. 

“No. Only about a week now.” 

“What brings you here? Are you vacationing?” 

“Sort of. I’m...trying something new, I guess.” 

“You’re obviously not from the States.” 

“Neither are you.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Good ear. Many folks here tell me my accent has faded.” 

“A bit, but not nearly enough. I’m from London, most recently anyway.” 

“Oh! I spent quite a lot of time there after University. How is old London town, hm?” 

Crowley frowned as he thought about his empty apartment, his flakey friends, and his lost job. “Lackluster.” 

Aziraphale softened and squeezed his arm. Crowley was so overwhelmed by the touch he tried to remember the last time anyone had actually touched him. “I see. Well, lucky for you, Tadfield is a lovely place to get a new start. There’s little in this world the sea air can’t fix, I’ve found.” 

“Sure.” Crowley couldn’t entirely buy that, but it was a nice enough sentiment. 

It didn’t take long to make it to the coffee shop and he stepped forward to hold the door open, getting a shy smile from Aziraphale for his effort. He stepped in after him and Coffee Girl - shit, what was her name? Ana-er. Anathema? - looked up and broke out into a smile. 

“Aziraphale! Hot chocolate?” 

“Of course, my dear. And whatever it was my friend here had earlier. I’m afraid his coffee got knocked out of his hands by a rogue kite.” 

“Oh really?” Anathema - that had to be it - looked Crowley up and down and then shrugged. “Six shots over ice, right?” 

“Right.” 

Aziraphale looked alarmed. “How on earth do you drink that much espresso in a single go?” 

“With a straw,” Crowley replied, and Aziraphale laughed. 

“I see. Come, sit, let me go pay for our coffees.” 

Crowley sat at one of the high top tables and tapped his fingers against the flat surface, watching as Aziraphale bustled up to the counter. He and Anathema discussed the weather and how Aziraphale liked his hot chocolate - with whipped cream instead of marshmallows, apparently. 

Once both drinks were done, Aziraphale paid for them and joined Crowley at the table. He pushed the drink over to him. “Do you take cream or sugar?” 

“Nah.” Crowley sipped his coffee. “So you and those kids were on the beach for some sort of kite thing?” 

“Ah, yes!” Aziraphale brightened, his hands wrapped around his mug of hot chocolate. “The Annual Tadfield Kite Festival! This will be its 50th year, if you can believe it!” 

“Is it just...kites?” 

Aziraphale shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You really are new. Yes, it is kites, but it isn’t ‘just’ kites,” he set his hot chocolate on the table to make quotes with his fingers. “Everyone works on their own kite, or in teams, to make a kite from scratch. Fabric, design, frame - everything. Then they enter them into the contest and some judges from Santa Barbara come out to pick the top three winners. There are different categories they’re all graded on, including how well they’re flown.” 

“Sounds like quite the to do.” 

“It is! It is one of the biggest events we have. All sorts come in to see the skies above the beach alive with kites. It is a lovely event, and at the end of the day we all pitch in for a beach barbeque. It is a party, where the winners are the guests of honor, there’s a bunch of silly little traditions we have and it...well. It is just a nice time.” 

Crowley couldn’t really think of anything in London that was similar. Events there were usually full of strangers, and the one that weren’t were personal parties he was invited to, which often ended up being filled with strangers, too. This sounded bright, happy, and absolutely not something he wanted to be involved with. 

Yet something in Aziraphale’s smile compelled him. 

“Well if you...I don’t know. Need any help.” He shrugged. 

“Have you made a kite before?” Aziraphale asked, bemused. 

“No.” 

“Flown one?” 

Crowley hesitated. “No.” 

“Fixed one, then?” 

Now he sighed. “ _ No _ .” 

“Hmm.” Aziraphale smiled and Crowley recognized he was being teased. “I suppose we could always use a cheerleader.” 

They finished their drinks and Aziraphale walked Crowley to his car. 

“Sorry again about your coffee. I hope I managed to make up for it.” 

“You did,” Crowley answered, the words falling out of his mouth. “Er - you...yeah. You more than made up for it.” Great. Sure. Go ahead Crowley, be the flirting creep. “Thank you. I guess I’ll see you around?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “I certainly hope so.” 

Crowley got into his car and watched as Aziraphale walked away. He exhaled slowly, looked at himself in the rearview mirror, and shook his head. “None of that, now,” he told himself. “None of that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter]() and [tumblr]().


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley takes a walk on the beach (and encounters an angel).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves. Another day in these strange times we find ourselves in. Nonetheless, it is Thursday, which means I have an update for you! Thank you all for your kind comments on the last chapter. As you can tell, I try to respond to comments as I can. I'm not the best at it, but I do read all of them! Even if I'm not always able to reply. So thank you. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Just Crowley!” Anathema smirked at him as he stepped into the coffee shop. He tried not to scowl immediately, even if it was his first instinct. He was up earlier than he wanted to be, bullied out of his far-too-cold house by a gentleman there to fix the heat who insisted he would be loud and likely a bother. Crowley needed to leave for about an hour, and by the time he got back it should be better. 

Since there wasn’t much else to do in Tadfield, he supposed coffee was the best option. 

“Anna.” 

“Anathema!” She corrected, unbothered by his attempt at misnaming her. “Six shots over ice again?” 

“You got it.” He hopped up onto a chair at one of the high top tables and waited, watching as Anathema bustled around behind the counter before he glanced out the windows. They were large, letting in the light of the early morning sun, and across the highway Crowley could see where the beach began. Beyond that, the ocean was a mire of mist. 

“Six shots over ice.” Anathema set the cup down on the table and then hauled herself into the chair across from him. “So, Just Crowley, what brings you to Tadfield?” 

“You’re awfully nosy,” Crowley pointed out as he picked up his drink and took a sip. “Do you do this to all your customers?” 

“Yes.” Her smile was unnerving. 

“I’m here to fix up a house,” he said, because it was at least partially true. “And get it ready to sell. It belonged to my mum, a long time ago. She left it to me and I didn’t do anything with it.” 

“Until now?” 

“Until now.” Crowley shrugged. “Good timing or whatever.” 

“Fate.” Anathema held her face in her hands, elbows resting on the table as she studied him. “Yes, I’d say fate has something for you here.” 

Crowley made a face. “I don’t believe in fate.” 

Later, after he managed to chase Anathema back behind the coffee bar and was subsequently bullied into purchasing a bag of taffy, he decided to walk the beach again. As before, he took off his flip flops and held them in one hand, having left the taffy to melt in his car. He began his trek across the sand that was still cool for the low temperatures overnight, headed straight for the ocean. 

When he drew near to the tide line he stopped, left his flip flops on the sand above it, and then rolled up the cuffs of the jeans he wore. It was difficult, given he had chosen a tight pair of skinny jeans, but he managed to get them to the base of his calf before he allowed the waves to lap at his toes. 

In late June the water wasn’t warm by any means, but it still felt nice as the foam swirled between his toes and the dark sand gave way beneath his weight. He watched as the ripples caught the light, illuminating the sand beneath them, creating a swirling abstract image painted by nature herself. 

Crowley didn’t love Tadfield, but he thought he could at the very least grow to love the sea. 

“Oh, you’re out early.” 

Crowley spun and almost lost his balance as a familiar voice knocked him off guard. Beside him, hair glowing in the morning light like he was a goddamned angel, was Aziraphale. He was dressed in chocolate trousers that were rolled up to his knees, revealing thick calves covered in fuzzy blonde hair. His feet were bare, toes digging into the sand as a wave lapped at them. As Crowley finally managed to drag his gaze back up to Aziraphale’s face, he realized he was wearing a cream shirt and an argyle sweater vest that matched his overall color palette. 

He looked handsome, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. In one hand he held a closed book, while the other lay hidden away in a pocket, thumb sticking out. Aziraphale cocked his head to the side and offered Crowley a half-concerned smile. “Alright there, my dear?” 

The wind tussled with his curls and Crowley wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through them. 

“Ngk.” He cleared his throat, trying to chase away the uncomfortable sensation in his belly that came from daring to look upon the strangely angelic man in front of him. “Lovely. Fine. Great.” 

“Water a bit cold? It takes a moment or two to get used to it, I admit, but there’s nothing quite like it first thing in the morning.” 

“Were you out here reading?” Crowley nodded toward the book. Aziraphale looked at it as if he were surprised it was there. 

“Oh, yes. A bit of Robert Frost. He doesn’t write much about the sea, but it still feels nice to read his poems while out in the midst of nature. How about you? Out for an early morning stroll?” 

“I, uh.” He wasn’t sure how to answer. He was bored, he was stuck outside while his heat was fixed, he had sort of hoped he might get hit by a kite again. “Yeah.” Smooth, Crowley. 

Aziraphale didn’t seem bothered by it. “Well, I’m all for avoiding work as long as possible. Would you mind if I strolled with you?” 

“Yes - I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind. Yes, you can, er, stroll. With me.” Crowley huffed. “Just let me grab my shoes.” 

“Of course.” 

Crowley swore he could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on him as he slouched back over to his flip flops and picked them back up. He took the time spent bending to retrieve them to try and knock his brain back into cooperation before he turned and made his way back over to Aziraphale. 

As the morning light grew, he really did look more and more like an angel. A beige, chubby angel. 

“I know you said you weren’t vacationing, but are you staying at the inn?” 

“No. An old beach house up in The Garden.” 

“Oh? You don’t say? Which one?” 

“Number 66.” 

Aziraphale made a strangled noise and stopped in his tracks. “I’m sorry, you’re staying there?” 

“Yeah?” Crowley stopped too and turned, confused. 

“Oh, my dear, that poor house has been in disrepair for a decade now. Does it even have heat?” 

“It will,” Crowley shrugged. “It did at some point. I’ve got someone fixing it now.” 

“And gas? Can you cook? I’m surprised they were still able to connect the electricity, in all honesty.” 

“Alright, alright. It is kind of a dump.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and then continued walking. It was a dump, but it was  _ his _ dump now, his mum’s dump before him. It was all he had. 

“I didn’t mean that.” Aziraphale splashed through the water as he quickened his gait to catch up, grasping Crowley’s arm to pull him to a stop. “I’ve obviously stuck my foot in my mouth. I was just...well. I suppose I was worried that you weren’t comfortable.” 

Crowley glanced at him and then shrugged again. “I’ve had worse.” 

Aziraphale’s face softened, but he didn’t let go. The touch was like a fire, or maybe more like a warm rock, and Crowley was a snake who wanted to bask in the heat for a while. “I’m sorry to hear that. But, if you grow tired or uncomfortable there you are always welcome in my guest room! I’m number 77.” He squeezed Crowley’s arm. 

“Oh.” Crowley wondered if his face looked as flushed as it felt, the heat in his cheeks and the hand on his arm suddenly overwhelming. He was grateful for the next wave that washed over his feet, grounding him. “I think I’ll be fine but...thank you. That’s. Well. That’s nice. You probably shouldn’t let a stranger into your house.” 

Aziraphale laughed and let go of his arm. Crowley immediately missed the heat of him. “I think you’re probably alright. I don’t have much of worth anyway, to be honest. Not like there’s anything to steal.” 

“Thanks.” Crowley wasn’t exactly sure what to make of that. A practical stranger was inviting him into his home, his  _ guest room _ , just in case he was too uncomfortable. “I’ll keep it in mind.” 

They walked together down the beach, the waves rolling in and breaking, bringing the cool water of the Pacific over their feet. It was then that Crowley realized Aziraphale was still wearing his flip flops, even in the water. 

“Won’t the water mess up your sandals?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked up, brow furrowed, before he smiled. 

“These are Rainbows,” he answered. “They’re made to get wet. It helps break in the leather. Anathema put me on to them. Her young man, Newt, swears by them.” 

“Oh.” Crowley wondered if he ought to look into them. His flip flops were nothing special, picked up from a bargain bin at the grocery store. “Huh. They’re nice.” 

“Thank you.” Aziraphale seemed pleased by the compliment, holding his book closer to his chest. 

“So you own a bookshop?” 

“Ah, yes. The only one in town! Outside of the gossip magazines and paperbacks at the grocery, of course. But that doesn’t hold a candle to the books I keep.” 

“Keep?” 

“Er. Sell.” Aziraphale fretted. “Sometimes. When I absolutely have to, anyway.” 

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You own a bookshop, but you don’t like to sell books?” 

“Well…” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m a fan of books, particularly first editions and other old tomes. It takes a while to come across them and once I do, I find it difficult to part with them.” 

“How do you make money, then?” 

“I do part with them occasionally.” Aziraphale smiled to himself. “Usually to fellow collectors who show the same appreciation for them as I do. Then, I have a paperback section that honestly makes most of my money, new releases and all that. There’s always a vacationer wanting to pick up something to read on the beach.” 

“I see.” Crowley found the concept of a bookshop owner who didn’t like selling books to be curious, but he supposed it made some sense. He’d have a hard time parting with his record collection back home and couldn’t imagine opening up a shop. 

Aziraphale checked his watch. “Oh, dear, I really should be going. However much I like to avoid it, I ought to open the shop for a bit. It was really lovely walking with you, Crowley.” 

“Same. Let me, uh, walk back with you? I should head back anyway.” 

“I would like that.” 

They walked back across the sand and toward the main road again. By the time they reached the sidewalk, Aziraphale’s feet were absolutely covered in sand. Crowley’s were, too, to be fair, though he hadn’t bothered putting his sandals back on. 

“Would you be a dear and hold this while I wash my feet off?” Aziraphale asked, offering him the book. 

“Yeah.” He took it and held it carefully, worried that he would somehow ruin it. He watched Aziraphale walk over to a faucet meant for washing feet and enjoyed the way he hopped from one foot to the other, precariously balancing to try and get the spray over his foot without getting his trousers too wet. 

When he finished, he walked back over and smiled. “Your turn, dear boy.” 

“Ah.”  _ Dear Boy _ . Oh. It made his stomach do a flip. He handed the book back and walked over to give his feet the same treatment while Aziraphale watched. When he was done he slipped on his sandals and walked back over to Aziraphale. 

“Again, this was lovely.” Aziraphale’s eyes flicked toward the sea before returning to Crowley, his hands worrying the edges of his book. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, yes?” 

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll swing by the shop for a paperback sometime.” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up, his blue eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight. “Yes, that would be most welcome.” 

“Have a good day, Aziraphale.” 

“You too, Crowley.” 

Crowley started walking toward his car, glancing over his shoulder only once to catch a final glimpse of Aziraphale’s back. With a sigh, he got to his car, got in, and made his way back up to The Garden.

As he pulled into the driveway he noticed the heating and cooling van was still there, but the gentleman who had been doing repairs appeared to be putting tools away. Crowley shut off the engine and got out. 

“Yer back,” the repairman - what was his name? Leo? L-Ligur! Shit, it was written on his damn shirt - looked him up and down and then reached into his pocket. “Heat should be all fixed up. Here’s the bill. You can just send a check or whatever to the main office.” 

Crowley took it and sighed at the number. Three-hundred and fifty dollars was not nearly as bad as he thought it would be. 

“And here’s a central heating and cooling quote. ‘Thought ya might want it since ya seem to be fixing the place up.” Ligur handed him another paper, one with a much larger number on the bottom. Thankfully it was a quote and not a bill. 

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Mmhm. If ya have any issues, call the number at the bottom. We’ll come right back out.” 

“Great. Have a good one.” 

“Yup.” Ligur shut the door to the van and then got in the driver’s seat. Without another word he pulled away and trundled down the hill. Crowley watched him go, then looked at his rented Prius and wondered when his Bentley would be delivered. It was being shipped to the East Coast, then brought on a trailer across the country. 

He’d be reunited with her eventually, though he worried about what the salty air and gravel roads might do to her. 

Heading inside he was greeted by the thoughtful hum of the heating vents and was grateful. At least it was something to fight the draft. He moved into the kitchen and set the bill on top of one of the counters, the quote beside it, as he peered into the almost empty fridge. Grocery shopping would be next, he decided, followed by figuring out what little repairs he could manage on his own. 

Yet as his mind swirled with possibilities, he couldn’t help but think of Aziraphale’s smile and wondered if he shouldn’t make visiting the bookshop a priority first. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley rewards himself with a walk on the beach, after doing some home repairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello and Happy Thursday. Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter!! I see you all really want Crowley to go to the bookshop :P He will, eventually. I promise. But this story takes place at the beach.....so we get another beach day. 
> 
> I hope everyone remains well in these wild times. I myself am looking at making the big move cross country back to my home state of Oregon. It might be time to return home. Wherever you are at, take care. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Unfortunately, Crowley didn’t make it out of the house much over the next two days. He found that once he started in on a project it was impossible not to finish. He made a run to Home Depot about half an hour away to buy what he needed to redo the cabinets in his kitchen and spent the better part of a day and a half redoing them. In between coats of sea foam paint, he made a grocery run and finally stocked his fridge with something other than day-old coffee, which he left in it so he could pour it over ice the next day. 

Once the cabinets were done and a couple small improvements were made to the bathrooms, he finally allowed himself out of the house. It was another beautiful Southern California day, so he tossed on shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, and hopped in his rental car with a plan to go to the beach. 

He stopped at Identity Crisis first, once he found a parking spot. The walk to it was lovely, the sun high in the sky and warm against his skin. 

“Oh, Mr. Crowley.” Anathema grinned from behind the counter. She was talking to a young man who looked a few years older than her, with tousled brown hair and glasses. “I was just telling Newt here it had been a while since I’d seen you.” 

“Two days,” Crowley replied, then glanced at Newt. He nodded and Newt smiled back at him. “I’ll take -” 

“Six shots over ice,” Anathema intoned. “I know, I know.” 

“What if I had decided to change it up?” 

“Have you?” Anathema was already setting up to pull the shots. 

“...no.” Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Didn’t think so, but if you ever do want to change your order I have some suggestions.” 

“Are you here long, Mr. Crowley?” Newt asked. 

“Just Crowley, and I’m not sure.” 

“Well, it is always nice to have new people about. It certainly shakes up the usual order of things.” 

“Yeah, well.” Crowley wasn’t sure what he hoped. Probably that he would be able to get the house settled and sold, and find another job in the process. 

Newt glanced at Anathema and then back at Crowley, offering him a smile. “Nice to meet you, anyway, however long you’re here.” 

Crowley accepted his drink, paid for it, and bid the both of them farewell with a casual flick of his hand. He made his way across the highway to the edge of the beach, hopped over the barrier, and kicked off his flip-flops. Once again with coffee in one hand and his sandals in the other, he made his way down to the edge of the water. 

He let the waves run over the tops of his feet, sand slipping out from beneath him as he walked along the water’s edge. The sound of the ocean and the stiff breeze coming off of it were lovely, a nice break from musty wood and old cabinets. The paint and new sealant on it had helped, the kitchen a little less stressful to be in, and he was finally set up to cook. 

It was progress. 

After he made his way down the stretch of beach he found what he believed to be a relatively secluded spot and dropped his sandals and phone on the ground. He stuck his coffee in the sand beside them and made his way further into the waves. They lapped at his ankles, then his shins, and eventually the edges of his shorts were dripping as he leaned down and let the waves crash over his arms. He licked his lips and the taste of salt and sea filled his mouth. 

He supposed if there was one thing this place had above everything in London, it was this: the Pacific Ocean. She was a bit chilly, but beautiful. 

“Oh Mister Crowley!” A familiar voice startled him, and as he turned to see who it was he missed an oncoming wave that nailed him in the back of the knees and knocked his feet out from under him. With an undignified yelp he fell into the wet sand and shallow water just as another wave rolled over him, nearly taking his sunglasses with it. 

As the wave receded he sputtered and found he was being hauled up by strong arms. 

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you like that. You poor thing, you’re soaked.” Aziraphale tugged him up onto dry sand. “Hold on here a moment, let me fetch you a towel.” 

Crowley took off his sunglasses and stared down at his soaking wet clothes. He grimaced as he stuck the glasses on his head and tried to wring his shirt out. It was then he noticed a piece of seaweed plastered to his shin and he made a face. 

“Goodness.” Aziraphale chuckled and leaned down to pluck it off, tossing it into the sand. “Take off your shirt, dear, and dry off. Here.” He held out a towel. 

Crowley slipped out of his shirt and held it for a moment, not entirely sure he wanted to drop it on the sand. He gave in, though, as a breeze kissed his skin and he very desperately wanted a towel. As his shirt was discarded he accepted the towel and saw to his hair first, which knocked his sunglasses to the sand because he’d forgotten they were there. 

“Somebody have mercy,” he grumbled. Aziraphale bent down and picked them up. 

“There, there. Everyone gets caught up in the waves.” Aziraphale waited until Crowley toweled himself off and wrapped it around his shoulders before he handed back the glasses. Crowley dried them on the towel and replaced them on his face, a little more at ease without Aziraphale looking at his eyes. 

“What are you doing out here?” Crowley asked, regretting the question.  _ Smooth _ , he thought. 

“Ah, well…” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “You see, there’s a tour group coming through today and I heard my shop was on their list of stops. I really hate it when those sorts come trampling through, touching everything. So I...closed up shop. Called in sick. I decided to have a picnic on the beach instead.” 

Crowley laughed in disbelief. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale straightened his button-up shirt as his lips were set into a thin line. “I’d rather not sell to those who won’t appreciate it.” 

Crowley softened a bit. “I guess I can understand that.” 

Aziraphale’s lips quirked up. “Jolly good, then. Would you care to join me? I’m afraid, as usual, I packed far more nibbles than I ought to eat. It would give you a chance to dry off.” 

“Er. Sure.” Crowley had a difficult time thinking up a reason not to, especially the way Aziraphale’s blue eyes glittered in the sunlight. He didn’t want to see his house until he had to, after being cooped up. Basking in the sun sounded nice. “Just let me grab my things.”    
  
“Of course, I’m right over here.” Aziraphale started walking a little down the beach, toward a spot well above the tide line. Crowley could see a brown and cream blanket and the shape of a picnic basket. He really was having a picnic on the beach.    
  
Making his way through the sand, which stuck to his toes and the arch of his foot, he picked up his coffee, flip-flops, and phone, and began the trek to Aziraphale. He walked on the wet sand, feet sinking down with every step, until he had no choice but to go back to dry land. He approached the blanket and maneuvered so as not to get sand all over it, setting his things on the edge and dropping down. 

It was tartan. Brown and cream tartan. He ran his hand over the blanket and then looked at Aziraphale who smiled at him. 

“Right, then. We can dry off. Here, would you like some wine?” 

He hadn’t even finished his coffee, but wine sounded good. 

“I couldn’t help but notice a bit of rubbish piling up near your bins,” Aziraphale pointed out after he swallowed a mouthful of cracker and cheese. “Have you been doing home renovations?” 

Crowley snorted. “A bit. I’m doing as much as I can myself, then I’ll put out a bid for someone who knows what they’re doing to come through and really modernize the place.” 

“I’m sure you must have a lovely view of the ocean at least.”    
  
Crowley thought about the weather worn deck and the sun faded chairs on it. He’d spent hours out there as a child, watching the waves, keeping an eye out for seabirds. He shrugged. “S’alright.” 

“Are you going to sell it?” 

“Why, you interested?” 

Aziraphale looked affronted. “I would never betray my lovely little cottage. I merely thought it has been nice having someone there. Someone who cares about the space and seems to like the community.” 

“I seem to like the community?” That was the first Crowley was hearing of it. He’d hardly interacted with the community. 

“Anathema is certainly taken with you, and the Youngs think having someone living there will keep Adam and the rest of his little group of friends away from the property. You’ve already made an impact.” 

It was strange to think about this temporary place in terms of  _ impact _ . How could he have had any impact without even realizing it? Outside of Aziraphale and Anathema (and now Newt, he supposed, and he  _ had _ met Adam and the Them…) he hadn’t had too much interaction with folks. It didn’t really surprise him, though, that word had spread around such a small town. 

“You’ll at least stay through the kite festival, won’t you? I’d hate for you to miss it.” 

Crowley shook out of his thoughts and took a sip of wine to cover up his inattention. “‘Course, angel. I wouldn’t miss it.” 

Silence settled over them like the quiet before the crash of a wave. 

“Angel?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley regretted everything. Falling in the ocean, taking Aziraphale’s towel, agreeing to a picnic - all of it. Because when he wasn’t thinking, things like  _ angel _ slipped out and he seemed like an absolute creep. 

“It is the hair,” Crowley insisted, motioning to his own head and wiggling his fingers as if that read as ‘curls’ to anyone except him. “It looks like a halo in the sun.”    
  
It had absolutely nothing to do with Aziraphale’s cherubic cheeks, or soft smile, or the way he had appeared with a towel when Crowley was soaked to the bone. 

“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale looked at if he knew something he shouldn’t and smiled into his wine as he took a sip. 

“So, when do you think I could see the bookshop?”    
  
Aziraphale lit up, and the subject was successfully changed. As they picnicked and the afternoon grew later, they ended up on the topic of film. 

“I’m more of a book reader,” Aziraphale admitted and Crowley, halfway to sloshed since Aziraphale had opened a second bottle of wine, snorted. 

“You don’t say.” 

“Hush.” Aziraphale swatted at him. “What were you saying about, er,  _ The Fast and Furious _ ?”    
  
“Look, there’s no better car than the Bentley, but the films are good! Fast cars, action -” 

“Sounds a bit unsophisticated.” 

“You sound a bit posh.” 

“Why thank you.” Aziraphale winked and Crowley groaned. 

“That wasn’t a compliment!” 

“No?” Aziraphale smirked, the damn bastard. “Tell me more, then.” 

How it came to be four in the afternoon, Crowley wouldn’t know. He watched as Aziraphale applied sunscreen for what had to be the tenth time that day. 

“You going for the pale look?” Crowley asked. 

“I’m going for the ‘I refuse to be a lobster’ look, thank you.” Aziraphale finished rubbing it onto his face. “I worry for your poor skin.” 

“Pfft. I’ll be fine.” He waved Aziraphale off. They had finished the wine about an hour earlier, and Aziraphale had insisted Crowley at least sip some water. He was reluctant, but there was something satisfying in the pleased look on Aziraphale’s face when he finally compiled. 

They walked back to the main street together, Crowley noticing the beach was no longer as empty as it had been. Children - including the Them, supervised by a stern looking gentleman - were running down the beach attempting to get their kites to lift. A few couples and trios walked the length of the beach down in the wet sand. And, not surprisingly, it looked like the tour group had given up on shops and donned their bathing suits to cause a ruckus in the surf. 

“This was lovely, you know,” Aziraphale said as they arrived at Crowley’s car. 

“Yeah?” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck, ignoring how warm his skin was. “Thanks, for the food and wine, and the towel.” He tried to hand it back. 

“Ah, you’re still a bit damp. You keep it. You can return it tomorrow, hm? I usually close up around three, and am back at my cottage in no time. You could come for some iced tea, it is all the rage in a little town like this. Anathema showed me how to make it.” Aziraphale bounded up onto the balls of his feet with a smile. 

“Sure, yeah.” Aziraphale wanted to hang out with him, again? Really? He supposed they had had a rather lovely day of it, and they seemed to get along. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Can I give you a lift?” Crowley motioned up the road, in the direction of their cliffside neighborhood. 

“Oh, no, I ought to go check on the shop before I turn in for the day. But thank you, Crowley, for keeping me company. Get home safely, hm?”    
  
“Yeah.” He studied Aziraphale for a moment more before he got into his car and headed off, back toward home. When he arrived, he took an ice cold shower, picked at some leftovers in his fridge, and spent the evening staring out at the sunset. 

Maybe Tadfield wouldn’t be all that bad, he thought, if it were full of more days with Aziraphale, sitting on the beach.    
  
Once the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Crowley turned in. He padded up to his bedroom, flopped onto the bed, and fell into a sun induced sleep. He’d see Aziraphale the next day, have tea, and maybe think about what the future might hold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter]() and [tumblr]().


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley deals with the consequences of his sunscreen-less actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! And for those of us in the US, a happy holiday weekend. I know things are tough, and crazy, and wild, but I hope you all manage to find a little bit of peace in the chaos. 
> 
> I'm rooting for you!
> 
> Also, huge shout out to my buddy and beta reader [coveredincrumb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegiftoftime/pseuds/coveredincrumb) who has started posting her [Good AUmens piece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24805624/chapters/59992114)! Go read it. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Crowley wished he hadn’t woken up. He was greeted by the uncomfortable rasp of a sunburn against sheets. His  _ skin _ hurt, and so did his head, and he was parched. With an unhappy groan he inched off the bed and grimaced as his shirt rubbed against a whole body burn. 

The face that stared back at him when he made it into the bathroom and looked into the mirror was something out of a horror film. He was red, and not the cute rosy red of sleep. No, he was burnt, and he realized quickly that throughout his day sitting on Aziraphale’s blanket, he hadn’t once applied sunscreen. 

He turned the cold water on in the shower, stripped, and grit through the initial discomfort. Eventually, the cold water was nice, and he avoided scrubbing. Instead, he rubbed a bar of soap as delicately as possible over the main areas that needed it, leaving the rest to be doused in cold water. Getting out of the shower was almost as unpleasant as getting in, and with a towel wrapped around his waist, he sought out aloe vera. 

Of course he couldn’t find any. He hadn’t thought to purchase some, and there wasn’t any left from the days of his youth. So instead, he put lotion on, wincing all the while, and chugged a few glasses of water, all before bothering to pull on loose shorts and a loose tank top. He wasn’t sure he could handle anything else touching him.

He drank more water, and did a load of laundry, hanging Aziraphale’s clean and dry towel on a coat hook near the door. He’d have to drop it off and then limp his way to a store that sold aloe vera. Then he would take a damn bath in it. Maybe if he was lucky he could purchase an entirely new skin and shed his current one like a snake. 

Crowley was lightheaded but not particularly hungry, so after he drank yet another two glasses of water he slipped into his flip flops and made his way to the door. He snagged the towel off of the hook and went outside, crossing the street to the house he knew was Aziraphale’s. He noted the modest car out front, an old Toyota Camry in a beige that Crowley marveled at. Is it possible Aziraphale had gotten custom paint? 

Walking up to the door he knocked, and then winced. Everything hurt, maybe this was a mistake. After a moment of silence he heard feet, and then the slide of a lock being undone. The door opened a moment later and there stood Aziraphale, dressed in a tight fitting, earth tone v-neck undershirt, and shorts that stopped above his knees. 

“Oh, Crowley!” His face beamed like sunlight, which made Crowley woozy on multiple counts. Then it faded, cloud cover rolling in as his eyes roamed over Crowley. “Oh, Crowley, my dear boy, you’re as crisp as toast. I knew I should have pushed you to put on sunscreen.” 

“Heh.” That was an apt description. “I, er, wanted to return your towel.” 

“Have you put anything on your burns yet? Have you been drinking water?” Before he understood what was happening, he was being ushered into Aziraphale’s home without being touched. There was merely the ghost of Aziraphale’s hand hovering over the small of his back, and it was enough to propel him forward. “Please, sit, I’ll go grab some aloe. And some water. Goodness, you must be miserable.” 

He guided Crowley to a chair in what appeared to be a small dining room, then took the towel and disappeared down the hallway. Crowley was a bit out of sorts, his head aching, his skin uncomfortably tight, but he did take a moment to look around. There were tiled floors, and nautical wallpaper on the wall boasting waves and anchors. That seemed to be where the nautical theme ended, however, as there were bookshelves on almost every surface high enough not to hit your head on. And they were covered in books. 

Not knick-knacks, though there were quite a few of those, too. But books. Some toppled and piled on their sides, others standing upright and held that way with fancy bookends. When he looked toward the kitchen, he noticed a cheery little succulent sitting in the window sill above the sink. 

He didn’t have a chance to look around more because Aziraphale was back, holding a rather voluminous bottle of aloe vera. “Here we are, dear. I knew I had some stashed somewhere. The children are always forgetting their sunscreen so I keep this on me just in case!” 

“Thanks. I’ll, uh, take it home and return it -” 

“Nonsense! You look miserable. Here, you start in on that and I’m going to get you some water. Maybe a sports drink if I have one in the fridge out in the garage.” Aziraphale set the bottle on the table and puttered away, a door opening and closing with a creak of well worn use somewhere else in the house. 

Crowley grimaced as he reached for the aloe and poured a glob onto his hand. He made a face. The stuff wasn’t particularly pleasant, but he did begin to smooth it over his skin, and it started to do its job. His skin tingled and cooled, at least until the aloe began to dry on certain spots, and he covered all that he could reach with it. 

Aziraphale showed up right as he tried to get his back, tsk’ing at him. “I found a Gatorade. I hope you like apple. It was one of those strange market research flavors that never quite took off.” 

He set the Gatorade down on the table. “Here, drink that while I help you get your back, hm? This is, after all, a bit my fault. I should have been more stern about sunscreen.” 

“Oh, uh, no it is alright, really -” 

“Nonsense!” Aziraphale huffed. “You’re burned all around, it is the least I can do.” 

And just like that, Aziraphale guided him with gentle hands to turn and straddle the kitchen chair. Crowley put his arms along the chair back and within moments Aziraphale’s hands were smearing cold aloe vera against his back. Crowley didn’t want to admit that it felt good, not just from the cooling effect, but because it had been quite a long time since he’d had someone’s hands on his bare skin. He bit back a startled noise, but some still managed to eek out. 

“Dear me, I should have let it warm up a bit first. I’m sorry, dear boy, first you’re burned, the next thing you know I’m trying to give you a chill.” 

“S’fine.” Crowley shivered in spite of his words, and Aziraphale made another noise with his teeth as he gentled his touches. It didn’t make the aloe any warmer, but it certainly sent heat straight to Crowley’s gut. 

As a distraction, he reached over and opened the Gatorade. He took a sip and the taste of sweet orchard apples splashed over his tongue. It was surprisingly accurate, for being Gatorade, which normally tasted like a watered down version of whatever it was supposed to taste like. He didn’t dare look at the sugar content in favor of chugging it, suddenly parched and less aware of Aziraphale’s hands. 

Hands which he did become aware of as they started on his shoulders and the base of his neck, fingertips rubbing aloe into his sore skin. He wanted to like it, and wanted to press back into the touch, but it didn’t take long for the touch to smart as the aloe became less effective. It would be his luck that the first time someone wanted to touch him - a cute someone, he should add - it was when he was burned to a crisp and didn’t want to be touched. 

“There. That should do it. We’ll apply a bit more before you leave. You should, after all, stay for brunch.” 

“Brunch?” he asked. 

“Yes. I have a little charcoal grill heating up on the patio. I was going to make brunch burgers - with avocado slices, and fried eggs. They’re quite delicious, I assure you. I tried something similar at a beach bar once and it was to die for.” 

“I wouldn’t want to put you out.” Yet Crowley’s stomach rumbled at the thought. Apparently his lack of breakfast was catching up to him, now that his skin wasn’t quite so charred and tight. 

“Nonsense! I already make multiples for leftovers, but company is a far better use.” He beamed, and Crowley wondered how someone like Aziraphale existed in the world. He was cottonwood dancing on a warm breeze, or seafoam shining in the sun. Human manifestations of the most beautiful things in nature weren’t supposed to exist, yet there stood Aziraphale, shining bright. 

“Alright, alright. I’ll stick around.” 

Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Get your shirt back on, then, and you can take the aloe with you when you go home. Here, let me give you a quick tour just so you’ve got your bearings. Then I best be manning the grill.” 

Crowley received a quick tour, shown where the bathroom was, the living room, and a small library he was welcome to take a look through. Aziraphale pointed out his bedroom and the guest room, and then Crowley followed him out onto the patio. The view wasn’t quite as good as Crowley’s, as Aziraphale was on the wrong side of the cliff to have a clear shot to the ocean. But Crowley could still hear it, the sound of waves rolling and crashing against the cliff side. 

The deck itself was in far better condition than his. It looked as if it had been recently treated, stained dark and worn on purpose without the elements taking their share. He ran his hand over the railing which did not give him splinters, and then glanced over at Aziraphale who hummed as he added patties he’d already prepped to the grill. 

The smells of burning charcoal and salt water reminded Crowley of his early childhood, during the short time he lived at his mother’s beach house. The nights were filled with wood fire and s’mores, hotdogs cooked over an open flame, and sometimes she would manage to get the charcoal burning to make burgers and brauts. She had always taken to the American way of life better than he had, and he wondered if she missed it when she took him back to London. 

“-prefer your burgers,” Crowley realized a moment too late that Aziraphale was talking to him. “But I tend to do them medium well. I don’t want to risk under-cooking!” Aziraphale looked at him and smiled. 

“Right.” He blinked. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale’s face fell a bit as he looked Crowley over. “Putting on more aloe might help, if you’re feeling uncomfortable.” 

He was feeling uncomfortable, but it had nothing to do with his sunburn. Crowley shrugged and offered Aziraphale a lopsided smile. “I think I’m just tired. ‘Didn’t sleep well, ‘cause of the burn and all.” 

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale’s eyebrows crinkled in sympathy. “I can only imagine, poor thing. Well, we’ll get some more liquid into you, another round of aloe, some food, and hopefully you’ll be tip top!” 

Crowley nodded as he leaned against the railing and peered out at scruffy trees and brush. 

They ate brunch out on the patio. 

“Mimosas are a traditional brunch drink,” Crowley insisted as he begrudgingly sipped water. 

“Yes, perhaps, but not for someone who is burned from head to hip!” 

“A mimosa would help.” 

Aziraphale’s lips formed a straight, unimpressed line. “Hardly. Look, I’m joining you in your quest for hydration.” He tapped his own glass of water with a perfectly rounded nail. 

“Goodie.” Crowley sighed and took another drink, before picking up his burger. The yolk dripped down over the patty and all of the toppings, soaking into the bottom bun. It was messy, but it was delicious, and he was glad to take another bite. 

“You know, you’ve yet to drop by the bookshop.” 

Crowley was aware. “Been busy,” he mumbled around a bite and received a scolding look from Aziraphale for it. He swallowed, licked his lips, then continued. “I got caught up in home repairs. It is a pain in the arse doing it alone.” 

“Well. I can’t say I’m particularly handy, but if you ever need help all you need to do is ask!” 

Crowley wondered how anyone like Aziraphale actually existed. He was something out of a story, overly kind, generous, all the things that Crowley felt he wasn’t, along with the majority of the world. Yet here, in Tadfield, a strange little book owner with angelic curls insisted on helping children with their kites and strange new neighbors with home repairs. 

“Thank you,” he looked down at his burger. “You are really too nice.” 

“Hardly! We could all use a little more ‘nice’ in the world.” Aziraphale reached over and pat the top of Crowley’s hand. “Now finish eating and we’ll get you taken care of, hm?” 

Crowley was sent home with another Gatorade, and orders to drink nothing else except water for the day. 

“And be sure to take a nice cool soak!” Aziraphale called out as Crowley crossed the road. “It should help.” 

“Thanks,” he called back. “Damn angel,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped back into his far less cozy beach house. He was even more determined to whip it into shape, even if it meant calling in extra help. If he ever wanted to invite Aziraphale over, he wanted the place to look halfway decent. 

Crowley stopped in the kitchen at that thought, frowning at his refrigerator. 

“I can’t get attached,” he told it. “I’ll get this place finished up, have him over as a thank-you, then it will be back to my life in London.” 

The refrigerator’s yellowing white vinyl said nothing in return. 

“Right.” He opened his apple flavored Gatorade and took another drink. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/) in the meantime!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally visits the bookshop, and a kite goes missing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We couldn't linger in cute Crowley and Aziraphale shenanigans forever, right? Right?? Haha. Finally time to move the plot along. This might turn out to be just over 10 chapters, but I'll update the full chapter count once I know. For now...happy Thursday. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Though he was still burnt, Crowley felt better after a day of hydrating and aloe. When he made his way into town he stopped for his usual coffee. 

“Just Crowley,” Anathema greeted, leaning on the counter with a smile. “You look like you pissed off the sun.” 

“I did,” Crowley replied. 

“I have a special salve that might help.” 

He narrowed his eyes. She shrugged. “Alright, maybe it is just aloe from one of my aloe plants. I suppose marketing it as a miracle cure won’t work on someone like you.” 

“No, it won’t. I will, however, take six shots over ice. That is the only miracle I need.” 

“Jump starting your heart, hm?” Anathema bustled away from the counter and began to pull the shots. “So, word around the block is you’ve been getting to know Aziraphale.” 

Crowley scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh? Is that so?” 

Anathema glanced at him over her shoulder, smiling. “A few someones may have seen you two picnicking on the beach. Is that what led to the burn?” 

“Maybe.” He wasn’t used to talking it up with locals. Anathema clearly wasn’t going to let it go. 

“And?” 

“And what?” 

Anathema sighed and left the shots of coffee to walk over to the counter and lean on it with her hands, staring at him. “What are your intentions?” 

“What are you, his mother?” 

“Maybe I am.” 

“You’re, what, twenty?” 

“Twenty  _ one _ ,” she snipped, rolling her eyes. “He’s a friend, I care about him, and it has been a long time since I’ve seen him willingly socialize with someone.” 

That was strange to hear. Aziraphale seemed sociable enough. He helped look after local kids, participated in the kite festival, ran a bookshop. Was it really so out of the ordinary to picnic with someone on the beach? What did it mean?

In the time it took him to mull it all over, Anathema finished his drink and set it on the counter in front of him. He held his credit card out to her but she pushed it away. 

“On the house, on one condition.” 

“What’s that?” Crowley tilted his head. 

“Don’t hurt him, Crowley.”

He grabbed his drink and scowled. “You don’t even know me.” 

“No, I don’t. But I know Aziraphale, and he’s got a soft heart, even if he can be a bit of a bastard.” 

“I’m not going to hurt him.” Crowley sulked, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’m a bit offended you think I would.”    
  
Anathema shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time he got caught up in some interesting out-of-towner trying on the beach life. Just…” For once, she dropped a bit of her tough facade. “Be good to him, alright? He deserves it.” 

“Right.” Crowley sighed. “Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Yeah, well. We’ve made a pact now and the sip you took of that coffee sealed it.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re joking.” 

Anathema shrugged one shoulder and flashed a smile. “Sure. Whatever lets you sleep at night.” 

Suitably unnerved and a bit suspicious of his coffee, he stepped out of the shop and began to walk down the strip that lined the highway. He could hear the roar of the ocean in the distance, matched by the roll and rumble of cars down the road. It was nice enough, and he sipped his coffee until he arrived at his destination. 

To his lack of surprise, the sign on the door to Aziraphale’s bookshop was turned to ‘Closed’. The shopfront itself was surprising, though, as it seemed rather normal for someone as fancy as Aziraphale. He had expected a Victorian facade, but instead was met with a rather plain, if well kept wooden storefront with a bright blue door. 

He walked up to the door and knocked. No one answered. He knocked again and frowned. Of course, the one time he finally followed through on a visit, Aziraphale wouldn’t be around. He sighed and turned to leave just as he heard the lock slide out of place and the door creak open. 

“I’m very sorry but we’re - oh! Crowley!” The door swung open wide as Aziraphale beamed at him. “Lovely to see you, please, come in. Come in. Hurry, before someone sees and thinks I’m open.” 

Crowley huffed a laugh and stepped inside as Aziraphale held the door open for him, then closed it once they were both inside. He slid the lock back into place. 

“You weren’t joking,” Crowley mused. “You really don’t like selling books.” 

“ _ Well _ ,” Aziraphale shrugged and puttered by him, over to a counter where a teacup sat beside an open book. “Today that wasn’t really the case. I was doing inventory and I happened upon this gem. It had been quite some time since I’d read  _ Brave New World _ and this is a particularly lovely edition. I got caught up in it, lost track of time.” 

“I’m almost sorry I interrupted you.” 

“Tosh!” Aziraphale waved the concern away. “I’ve been pestering you to visit and now you have, for which I’m grateful. Shall I give you a tour?” 

Crowley sipped his coffee as Aziraphale led him through the labyrinth of books. It seemed haphazardly organized to him, but Aziraphale appeared to know his way around it without issue. He pointed out his classic literature section, showed Crowley the first editions he kept in a climate controlled glass cabinet, and eventually pointed out the single shelf of paperbacks vacationers might actually be inclined to buy. 

Mixed into all of the shelves were trinkets. Some appeared nautical in nature, a seashell here, some sea glass in a jar there. But he also had larger items. Glass blown colorful orbs sat on various surfaces on their own little stands. There were paintings leaning against walls and hung up where there weren’t book cases. He had a globe - he actually had a few - which seemed appropriate for a quirky little bookseller. 

And in the back he had a cozy lounge with a broken-in couch and an armchair. There was a counter with a kettle and a microwave, rounding out what seemed to be a perfect spot to read. Crowley dropped onto the armchair and set his cup with its remnants on a coaster on a coffee table. 

“Hell of a place,” he remarked, tilting his head back to gaze at Aziraphale who appeared to be poking through a box on a table. It was full of books, go figure, and if Crowley were a betting man he’d guess it was some of the new inventory Aziraphale had gotten caught up in. 

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale turned, holding a well worn book in his hands. He rubbed his palm up and down the spine. 

“Sure, for a bookshop.” Crowley shrugged. “I like this chair.”    
  
“Oh,” Aziraphale laughed. “Well, there’s that at least. You’re really not a reader, then?” 

“Nah. I prefer audiobooks. I listen to them while driving, sometimes when I’m on a walk. S’easier to have someone else read to me.” 

“How so?” 

It was Crowley’s turn to fidget, wishing he had something to worry between his hands. “Written words get jumbled a bit, sometimes. Dyslexia, or whatever.”

He hated talking about it. “I’ve learned to cope with it well enough for work but I don’t really enjoy trying to read.” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale took a seat on the edge of the couch and smiled at him. “I could read to you sometime, if you’d like.” 

Crowley blamed the heat in his cheeks on his sunburn. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” 

“No trouble! Sometimes I read to the little ones at the local library.” He set the book on the coffee table. “I don’t mind it in the least, though I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to put on voices like they do.” 

“Of course I would.” Crowley stuck out his lower lip. “Can’t have someone read a book without voices.” 

“You fiend.” 

Crowley smirked. “You’ve got that right.” 

Aziraphale perked up and glanced toward the front of the shop, his brow furrowing. It was an attractive look, but Crowley realized he should probably be paying more attention to Aziraphale’s concern than his eyebrows. 

“What is it?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale stood. Crowley didn’t have to wait long until the sound of little footsteps echoed off the wood and a familiar boy with golden curls slid into the lounge. 

“Mr. Fell!” Adam said, followed closely by the rest of his compatriots. 

“Adam, what have I told you about picking the lock?”    
  
“You were closed!” 

“And you didn’t knock?” 

He looked a bit guilty. “You don’t answer sometimes, even when I do.” 

Crowley snorted a laugh and got a chastising look from Aziraphale. 

“What do we owe this visit to, Adam?” 

“Something has happened with the kites! Mr. Shadwell is going bonkers outside!” 

“What?” Aziraphale immediately slipped by the children toward the front door, the Them following at his heels. Crowley rose up to his feet and joined them. He could hear the shouting before they even reached the door. Once they poured out of the shop and onto the sidewalk, it was even louder. 

“Sabotage!” An older gentleman, presumably Mr. Shadwell, was shouting from the middle of the sidewalk. “Someone went an’ broke inta my shop! M’kite is missin’!” 

“Mr. Shadwell, surely no one  _ stole _ your kite.” A tall, conventionally attractive gentleman stood beside him. He had broad shoulders and a clean shaven face that showed off his sharp jawline. He had a wide forehead and perfectly styled short hair. Despite the warmth creeping in as the afternoon replaced the morning, he wore a designer lavender sweater and slacks. He looked self-important and Crowley decided he didn’t like him or his tone. 

“Who’re you ta say!” Shadwell shouted at him. 

“I’m Tadfield’s mayor,” self-important replied. “And never, in all of the years of the kite festival, has anyone  _ stolen _ a kite. Are you sure you didn’t just misplace it?” 

Mr. Shadwell’s face went red in rage as he began to stutter out words that Crowley wasn’t sure the children should be listening to. Adam looked absolutely capitaved. 

“Come now, Mr. Shadwell.” A woman with orange hair that Crowley was certain was a wig walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. 

“Off a’me ya wench!” Mr. Shadwell shouted, but he gave in to her leading as she guided him down the street and into the tavern Crowley hadn’t yet patronized. “They stole it,” Crowley heard Mr. Shadwell saying. “Broke inta m’shop and stole it!” 

“Nothing to see here, everyone.” Self-important was addressing the crowd that consisted of Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Them. 

“But he said his kite was stolen,” Adam pointed out, frowning. 

“Why would anyone steal a kite?” Self-important asked, shaking his head. “No, I’m sure the old coot just misplaced it somewhere.” 

“You’re not supposed to talk about your elders like that,” Wensleydale pointed out. “It isn’t kind.” 

Self-important stared at Wensleydale for a long, quiet moment, then broke into a patronizing smile. His teeth were perfectly straight and Crowley hated it. “Right, of course not. Thanks, kid. Anyway, I think that wraps things up here, don’t you?”    
  
He turned to leave and then paused, turning back to cock his head and look at Crowley for the first time. “Wait a minute, you’re new. What’s your name?”    
  
“None of your business,” Crowley snipped, and received an elbow to his ribs from Aziraphale, along with a scolding look. He sighed. “You can call me Crowley.” 

“Crawley, right. Nice to meet you. I’m Gabriel Winger, mayor of Tadfield. Will you be staying long?” He gave him a once-over and tried to hide a scowl. 

"Not sure," Crowley answered, eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem if I do?" 

“Certainly not. I hope you enjoy your time here, however long you plan to stay.” Gabriel offered a fake smile and turned, walking off. Adam snorted. 

“What a wanker.” 

“Adam,” Aziraphale admonished. 

“Well,” Wensleydale began. “He sort of is, isn’t he?” 

“A complete and utter wanker,” Pepper agreed. 

“Do you think someone really stole Mr. Shadwell’s kite?” Brian asked, seeming to only then pay attention to his friends. “I hope no one tries to steal ours.”    
  
“Ours is hidden,” Adam proclaimed, then glanced at Aziraphale. “Right, Mr. Fell?” 

“Of course.” Aziraphale offered a warm smile that Crowley wanted to drown himself in. “I think that’s enough excitement for the morning. Why don’t you all run along? Don’t you have some sort of camp activity to do this afternoon?” 

With a chorus of goodbyes, the Them left Crowley and Aziraphale standing on the sidewalk. 

“You don’t get that kind of entertainment in London,” Crowley pointed out, turning to glance at Aziraphale who still had a hand on his arm. 

“No, certainly not. We have a unique group of people in this little town.” Aziraphale glanced at him, blue eyes bright and sparkling like the sea. “I do hope Mr. Shadwell is alright. He has been known to make some wild accusations, but he doesn’t normally make a spectacle of it.” 

“So, you think someone actually stole his kite? Is the festival really that big of a deal?”    
  
Aziraphale huffed and, regrettably, removed his hand from Crowley’s arm to turn and walk back toward his shop. “It is quite a big deal. There’s a five hundred dollar prize, along with a trophy, and some other benefits for whoever wins. There aren’t a lot of competitions in a town this small, so everyone takes it quite seriously.” 

Crowley followed after him, holding the door open and receiving another smile for his trouble. He let it close behind them as he stepped back inside the bookshop. “Is there anyone who would want to sabotage it?” 

Aziraphale shrugged. “I’m not sure. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.” 

“And the Them’s kite?” 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “It is safe.” 

“Hey, I’m not the one stealing kites!” Crowley threw up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t have time. I’m too busy remodeling the damned beach house.” 

“How is that going, by the way?” Aziraphale disappeared into the back room and Crowley heard the clink of tea cups.

“Slowly.” Crowley stepped into the doorway and leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, watching Aziraphale prepare two cups of tea. “But it is going.” 

“As I’ve said, if you need any help, I might not be the handiest sort but I can at least make sure you don’t run out of tea. Or coffee, whatever your preference.” 

“And you’re a good cook,” Crowley pointed out with a smile that got a look and raised eyebrows from Aziraphale. 

“I’ll have to cook for you again, then.” 

Was Aziraphale flirting with him? Crowley’s stomach did a flip as he took in Aziraphale’s cute little smirk before he turned back to the tea. He had to be. Surely he wouldn’t offer things like that to just anyone? At least not with that cheeky little grin. He thought back to what Anathema had said, too, about Aziraphale getting involved with another out-of-towner. Was it part of Aziraphale’s schtick? Was he just that bubbly and nice?

“I’d like that.” 

“How is your poor sunburn?” Aziraphale poured boiling water over the teabags and let it steep. 

“Better, thanks to your aloe.” 

“Oh good.” Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “I’m so glad it helped. You looked positively miserable.” 

“I was,” he admitted. “Still am. It was hard sleeping. I took a cold shower, then slathered myself in the stuff. Managed to get a few hours, at least.” 

“Poor dear.” Aziraphale brought a cup of tea over to him and Crowley accepted it. “Hopefully it is all uphill from here, and perhaps next time you’ll take me up on my offer of sunscreen.” 

“Only if you help me apply it,” Crowley said before he could stop himself, but the comment seemed to land well because Aziraphale smiled at him. 

“I’d be happy to.” 

They spent about half an hour chatting before Crowley had to say his goodbyes. He had work to do on the house, and some supplies to pick up from a bigger town further inland. 

“Don’t be a stranger. We are neighbors, after all,” Aziraphale pointed out as he saw him to the door. 

“Right. ‘Course. Same to you, y’know. The house isn’t particularly hospitable but...it is open to you. If you’d like to visit.” 

“I just might.” 

Crowley waved farewell and made his way down the street, back toward where he parked his car. He paused outside of the tavern, glanced back at Aziraphale’s bookshop, then decided to stick his nose where it didn’t belong. 

Right before he could open the door, a hand held it shut, and attached to that hand was Mr. Self-Important himself. Crowley glanced at Mayor Gabriel Winger. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Walk with me, Crawley.” 

“Crowley.” 

“Crowley.” Gabriel motioned for him to follow, and Crowley knew nothing good could come of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets a better understanding of Tadfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I usually post earlier in the day, but it has been a busy one! So here's the latest chapter. Because I'm bad as estimating how many chapters it will take to tell a story, I've bumped this to 15. That may go back down, depending on how things wrap up. 
> 
> There might also come a point where I'll have to stagger out to every other week later this month and into next month. I'm going to start preparing to move my life from NYC to Oregon, which includes a coast vacation in the middle of all that, so I might be distracted. 
> 
> But for now, expect updates every Thursday!
> 
> Enjoy.

“Can I help you with something?” Crowley followed, dragging his feet as he tried not to glance back at the tavern. He really wanted to talk with Shadwell. 

“No, no. I just wanted to take a moment to properly welcome you to Tadfield. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, with all the high tension earlier.” 

“Right.” Crowley didn’t buy it for a moment. He’d met enough of Gabriel’s types in his work to know he was fishing for something. 

“Usually I manage to catch folks right as they move in, but I’m not even sure where you’re staying…” 

“Shame.” 

Gabriel smiled like a viper about to strike. “Come on now, champ. I’m just trying to get to know you!”

Gabriel whacked Crowley on the shoulder in the way that American football players patted each other on the back: with almost enough force to push him down. “I get it, though. Privacy and all that. The thing is, there aren’t really many places up for sale around town. I can’t help but wonder, are you in the old beach house up across from Aziraphale’s place?” 

“And what if I am?” 

“Here to fix it up? Sell it?” 

“Look,” Crowley stopped walking, as they had been strolling down the street at a leisurely pace. “I don’t know what you’re angling for, but if we could wrap this up I really have something to take care of.” 

“What, that situation with Shadwell back there?” Gabriel frowned and waved his hand to dismiss the thought. “No, you shouldn’t worry about that. It is just another one of his stories.” 

“He seemed pretty upset.” 

“And I’m sure Marjorie will take care of it.” Gabriel stopped walking too and turned back to face Crowley. “You’re from what, London? Some big city? You’ve got the big city flair all over you. I’ll say this about Tadfield, you’re better off taking care of business and leaving. We have a certain peace around here, and we don’t need outsiders coming and shaking it up.” 

Of course, Crowley had a lot he  _ could _ say about that. But the fact that what Gabriel said resonated with his original plan irked him. Sure, he’d planned to finish business and get back to London. But now that he was being told to do it, he found he wanted to plant his feet in the ground and stand there until Gabriel was the one who left. 

Instead, he shrugged. “Noted. Have a nice day.” 

He didn’t wait for a reply as he turned on his heel and walked back down the street and into the tavern, ignoring Gabriel’s irritated huff. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit interior. There were exposed Edison bulbs that looked as if they had been there since the place was built, and lamps in various corners to give it a cozy feel. There was a bar in the back, worn and well loved, shelves of liquor behind it. Scattered throughout the open space were tables and chairs, some high-top, some low, along with black leather booths pressed up against the walls. 

He noticed a jukebox, and a corner that had a billiards table and foosball. He hadn’t caught the name, but it didn’t matter because there was a sign back by the bar. It read ‘The Maiden Fair’. 

Crowley found Shadwell back at the bar, grumbling into a lager, as who he assumed was the woman Gabriel referred to as Marjorie consoling him. 

“There now, Mr. Shadwell. That should help calm your nerves.” She pat his hand and then glanced up and offered Crowley a smile. “Well hello there, love. Welcome to the Maiden. I’m Madame Tracy, proprietor and medium.” 

Madame Tracy? Then she wasn’t Marjorie. Unless, of course, Madame Tracy was a stage name of sorts, something Gabriel likely wouldn’t want to feed into. Crowley supposed that was most likely. “I’m Crowley.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Crowley. Aziraphale has mentioned you, so it is nice to finally put a face to the name. Sit, dear, please. What can I get you?” 

Aziraphale had mentioned him? Casually? Perhaps it was a typical thing to mention the newcomer to town. Yet Gabriel hadn’t known about him. It sent him into a bit of a tizzy, wondering what it meant, and thinking back to their gentle flirting.

He thought it was a bit too early to drink, despite Shadwell a few chairs down chugging his lager. “Ah, I’ll take coffee if you have any.” 

“I certainly do.” She bustled off, back into what appeared to be a small kitchen space. When she returned, it was with a plain white coffee mug filled almost to the brim with steaming black coffee. She left it on the bar and fetched a bowl with cream and sugar in it. Crowley didn’t take either, simply letting the coffee cool. 

“Do you know what the shouting was about earlier?” Crowley asked her, and before she could speak, Shadwell lumbered over and sat beside him. He grumbled. 

“Someone stole m’kite,” he growled into his mug. 

“I’d gathered that. Any idea who?” 

“Might’ve been that group a’punks. Led by the little devil child himself. Adam, s’name.” 

“Oh, I doubt that.” Crowley didn’t think Adam seemed like the sort of kid to steal a kite. He and his gang appeared to take the kite festival quite seriously. “I think he likes a fair fight.” 

Shadwell snorted. “Then I’ve not a bloody clue.” 

“Is this the first time something like this has happened?” Crowley directed the question to Madame Tracy who considered it. 

“Well, I’ve only lived here about five years now. Each year has gone off without a hitch. Everyone is a good sport about it, and it brings so many tourists to the area. It really is mostly just a lot of fun. I don’t know why anyone would want to sabotage it.” She frowned. 

“There’s a prize,” Crowley pointed out, remembering what Aziraphale had said earlier. 

“Sure, but five hundred dollars, a trophy, and some coupons?” She shook her head. “No, I can’t imagine anyone going to these lengths for that!” 

“Is the prize the same every year?” 

“It has been,” Madame Tracy answered. Her brow furrowed. “Though, well, now that you mention it...the prize for this year hasn’t been officially announced. I overheard Gabriel talking about it, but didn’t pay too much attention.” 

That was something, at least. Not that Crowley was getting involved...but perhaps he could pass the information off to Aziraphale, or the Them, or really anyone who wasn’t him, and they could investigate it further. “That might be an angle, then. Maybe there’s a different prize this year.” 

“Perhaps.” Madame Tracy pat his hand. “You seem surprisingly invested for someone new to town, dear, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

“Well. It...it matters to people here.” Crowley shrugged, tapping the bar. He knew the real reason was that it mattered to  _ Aziraphale _ , and that was becoming important to him. “And I’ve got some time. I’ve always been too curious for my own good, anyway.” 

“You look the sort. Well, consider the coffee on the house if you’re really willing to look into this! I’m sure Mr. Shadwell would be thankful if you found whoever stole the kite.” 

Mr. Shadwell was glowering at his empty mug. Madame Tracy tsk’ed and got him another. “And, dear, if you ever want your cards read, I’d be happy to give you a session on the house.” 

“Damned witch,” Shadwell groused. 

“Oh hush,” Madame Tracy chided, and to Crowley’s surprise didn’t receive any further guff. He sipped his coffee as he thought about the day, from spending time to Aziraphale to the case of the missing kite. Just what had he gotten himself into? 

Despite the coffee being offered on the house he tried to pay...and was turned down. Madame Tracy insisted his money was no good there, so after he finished it he thanked her and went on his way. He returned to his car without interruption this time, Gabriel nowhere to be seen. It was a simple drive back to his cliffside home and to his delight, there was something waiting for him in the driveway. 

Crowley all but leapt out of his rental car, crossing the short distance between it and his beloved Bentley. “Have you come to me in one piece?” 

He did a walk-around, letting his hand linger on the hood and the boot. He checked her for scratches and dings, ensuring everything was in working order. Sliding into the car he found an envelope with all the information in it, along with the valet key he’d left with the moving service. He ran his hands over her dash. 

“I’m going to rile up the Americans by driving you around,” he told her. “They won’t know what to do with me on the opposite side of the car!” 

Though it would hardly be the first English car he’d seen on the road in California. There had been some that could be considered rivals to his Bentley, if his Bentley weren’t better than any other car on the planet. “I hope you’ll forgive me for driving a Prius.” 

Despite the urge to take her out immediately, he knew he ought to wait. He could call the rental car company to come pick up the Prius in the morning, and show off the Bentley to Aziraphale. He glanced over at the passenger seat and tried to picture Aziraphale in it, his blonde curls tossed to and fro in the breeze from an open window. It made him smile, which immediately turned into a frown as he scrubbed a hand over his face. 

He really needed to stop getting attached. He thought briefly about Anathema and the mention of a past “out-of-towner” that Aziraphale had gotten involved with. The last thing he wanted to do was to be the next on Aziraphale’s list of out-of-towners who let him down. 

Getting out of the Bentley, he took the paperwork and the key with him and carefully shut the door. He headed inside, grateful for the brighter kitchen thanks to the cabinets he’d installed. It certainly helped the place feel homeier, and he could almost ignore the rest of the repairs that were needed. 

If only. 

He decided to cook up something quick and easy for a late lunch, ending up with beans and toast which he ate at the rusted out patio table on the deck. It was nice enough to be able to look out over the sea while he ate, the waves roaring and breaking against the cliffs. When he closed his eyes he could hear even more, the sounds of sea life all around him. Seagulls cawed, and in the distance he heard the cries of sea lions, all adding to the symphony of the waves. 

Maybe he  _ could _ get used to a place like that. It was better than blaring horns and polite shouts from the street. It could use some ducks though, he thought. That was certainly one thing he missed: feeding the ducks at St. James park. 

He’d have to ask Aziraphale if there was a park somewhere inland, within driving distance. Somewhere with ducks instead of gulls. 

Crowley was drawn out of his thoughts by hushed whispers and glanced around the deck to where it disappeared along the side of the house. He knew there were stairs there that led down and back around to the front. Listening, he thought he recognized the voices. 

“We should have knocked,” Wensleydale’s familiar voice insisted, despite being hushed. 

“Then we wouldn’t be spying, idiot.” That was definitely Pepper. 

“Why are we spyin’ on Mr. Crowley?” Brian asked. 

“Because,” Adam sounded a bit exasperated, like he’d already explained it half a dozen times. “A kite went missing and he’s the only new person in town. He’s obviously the first suspect.” 

“That seems unfair.” Wensleydale again. 

“What if he’s an alien?” Brian asked. 

“Idiot,” Pepper repeated and he was sure she was rolling her eyes. 

Instead of calling them out, Crowley stood from his seat and walked to the other side of the house. The stairs there weren’t in the best condition, but he managed to hop down them regardless. He crept around the front of the house and managed to sneak up behind the Them before they noticed. 

“A good day for spying, eh?” He said, loud and clear and not at all trying to be subtle. Everyone but Adam jumped, Pepper shoving Brian who had grabbed her in surprise. Wensleydale stepped away from the pair as the shove turned into a wrestling match. 

“Knock it off, you two,” Adam insisted, Pepper and Brian separating. He looked up at Crowley with eyes that seemed far too sharp for an eleven year old. No wonder Shadwell called him a devil child, he was clearly smart enough to get away with all sorts of mischief. 

“Can I ask what you are all doing here?” 

“Spying,” Adam answered. “We’ve got some questions for you, Mr. Crowley.” 

“For me?” Crowley feigned surprise. “Would you like to ask them here, or should we go inside and see if I’ve still got some chocolate biscuits?” 

“I think,” Adam began, standing straight with his chin up, “we should go inside and see about the biscuits.” 

That’s how Crowley ended up with four children in his home, sitting on the dusty old couch and loveseat, munching on Oreos. 

“So what did you want to ask me?” He asked, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Adam licked the icing out of the inside of his oreo. “Did you steal Mr. Shadwell’s kite?” 

“No.” Crowley huffed a laugh. “I didn’t.” 

“Hm.” Adam considered him as he chewed through his biscuit. 

“Someone who stole a kite wouldn’t just admit it,” Pepper pointed out. “There’s got to be some sort of test.” 

“A test?” Brian’s face was covered in chocolate crumbs. “What kind of test?” 

“I saw a film once,” Wensleydale pointed out. “They hooked a man up to a lie detector machine and asked him questions and knew if he was lying.” 

“I don’t think we’ve got one of those.” Adam finished his cookie and washed it down with a glass of milk Crowley had provided. He was nothing if not a gracious host, after all. 

“I saw a film,” Brian began, “where they dunked a guy’s head under water until he told the truth!” 

“My mum says that torture doesn’t get real answers,” Pepper replied. “And that the military shouldn’t do things like that if they want good information. They should befriend them instead.”

“Have we befriended you?” Adam asked Crowley. Crowley shrugged. 

“Aziraphale likes you,” Crowley reasoned. “So I suppose we’re friends by extension.” 

“Alright, so we’ve befriended you. Now you have to tell the truth. Did you steal Mr. Shadwell’s kite?” 

Crowley sighed. “No. As your friend, I swear I didn’t steal Shadwell’s kite.” 

The Them watched him with a long, intense look, before the tension broke and they broke out into various degrees of smiles. 

“Alright then. You’ll help us figure out who did, right?” Adam tilted his head to the side and looked so damn earnest that Crowley didn’t think he could say no. 

“I can try,” he offered. “I’m pretty busy, though, fixing this place up.” 

The Them glanced around. 

“What if we help?” Adam asked. “In exchange for you helping us. Quid pro quote.” 

“Actually, it is quid pro quo,” Wensleydale corrected. 

“Whatever. How does that sound?” 

Crowley wasn’t sure what four eleven year olds could help with, but he figured having that card in his hand wouldn’t be a bad thing. He nodded and walked over to Adam, sticking out his hand. 

“Deal.” 

“Deal!” Adam shook his hand. “Welcome to The Them, Mr. Crowley. You are now an official temporary member.” 

“Do you have more biscuits?” Brian asked. 

Crowley fetched more biscuits. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another kite is stolen!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS STILL THURSDAY...sort of. At least for another hour here on the west coast. I didn't think I'd get this one out, honestly. I had some work stuff come up and that, along with all the preparation for My Big Move, my attention has been divided. It has been hard to sit down and write, I'll admit. However, I'm still churning this fic out and starting to work on a sequel to my other fic, Seared into Skin, so hopefully I'll keep on schedule. 
> 
> But! If you don't see an update on Thursday next week, fear not. I'll post within a day or so, just to keep on schedule, unless I decide to switch the schedule. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The next morning, Crowley wanted to share his strange experience with Aziraphale. As he drank iced coffee and stared out toward the ocean, he considered  _ why _ his first inclination was to tell Aziraphale. Really, had it been so long since he’d had a friend?. Someone who was interested in him outside of clubbing, or drinking - though Aziraphale was certainly open to a good drink or two. 

Crowley also knew enough about Aziraphale to know he’d be interested in his dealings with The Them. He would want to know that the kids had tried to spy on him, accused him of stealing the kite, then brought him into their confidence. Crowley let out a loud sigh and hung his head. He wasn’t sure what to do. 

He decided a quick jaunt down to Identity Crisis wouldn’t be amiss. He could get Aziraphale some tea, get his usual, and go visit the bookshop. It would give him a chance to show off the Bentley, too. To give her some exposure to the Pacific sea air. 

With a sense of resolve, he finished off his iced coffee and headed inside. He’d need to go pick up a few things for home repairs anyway, so getting out of the house would be a good thing. He hopped into the Bentley and pet the dash as she roared to life, then took off toward the main strip. 

Finding parking on a weekday morning was easy enough and with a bit of a spring in his step he got out of his car and up onto the sidewalk in front of Identity Crisis. He pushed to open the door and it didn’t budge, a glance up showing off a “CLOSED” sign. Crowley frowned, then glanced down the way and forgot about coffee. 

Aziraphale was on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, frowning at the bookshop. Anathema stood beside him, rubbing his back. He jogged over. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley slowed his gait as he got close and frowned. Shattered glass lay all over the porch at the front of the shop, one of the front windows clearly broken in. “Oh, shit.” 

“Crowley.” Aziraphale took a few steps over to him, standing close and looking distraught. “Dear. I...well. I’m afraid we’ve had a bit of a break-in.” 

“Did you call the police?” 

“County cops will be here soon,” Anathema assured him. 

“You don’t have local police?” 

“In a town this small?” Anathema shook her head. “No.”

“Have you been inside?” Crowley turned his attention back to Aziraphale who nodded in the affirmative. “Did they take anything?” 

“Oh, only the  _ kites _ ,” Aziraphale’s face crumpled. “The children keep them at my bookshop to work on them. I’d been helping - oh, they’re going to be so disappointed. I’ve really gone and buggered things.” 

“Hey,” Crowley laid hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and squeezed. “It isn’t your fault. Someone broke in, you didn’t have control of that.” 

“I don’t even know why they’d take the kites, of all the things in there!” Aziraphale frowned, gaze averted. “What a bloody foolish thing to do.” 

Crowley sighed. It  _ was _ foolish, but obviously something strange was happening in town. Someone was out there stealing kites, and potentially ruining the festival. It didn’t make much sense to him. Why was a damn kite festival worth ruining?

“Look,” Crowley glanced at Anathema, and then brought one of his hands to Aziraphale’s chin to tilt his head back up. He offered him a small smile. “We’ll figure this out, alright?” 

Aziraphale’s skin was warm to the touch, and there was the barest hint of stubble trying to come through. Crowley resisted the urge to rub his thumb back and forth over Aziraphale’s chin. He could deal with his personal feelings later. 

“I’d hate to trouble you,” Aziraphale replied, looking so uncertain. 

“Hardly trouble. It gives me a reason to procrastinate on the home repairs.” He shrugged and let his hand fall away from Aziraphale’s chin. Crowley already missed the touch. 

He waited with Aziraphale while a deputy examined the scene and wrote up a quick report. Anathema brought him coffee and Aziraphale tea, on the house. 

“To help with the trauma,” she insisted. Crowley hadn’t complained, though Aziraphale had still tried to give her cash which she tucked back into his suit pocket. 

They received a copy of the police report and a promise to update them if anything else came up. Crowley didn’t really expect much, since he wasn’t sure kites were high on their concern list. He helped Aziraphale sweep up the glass. 

“I was heading to Home Depot anyway,” Crowley pointed out as he inspected the broken window. “I could get something to patch this up.” 

“Would you?” Aziraphale had sat down to sip his tea, looking surprisingly small in the oversized chair. “I’d hate to ask it of you. I can always pay you back, of course.”    
  
Crowley shrugged. “It is fine.”    
  
He wished he could comfort him, but perhaps his best option was to act instead. He’d get some plywood, maybe some plexiglass, and he’d help repair the window and a bit of Aziraphale’s sense of security. He would look and see how much security cameras cost, too, just for the hell of it, because he wouldn’t let anyone break in again on his watch. 

Just as he was getting ready to share his plan, the door slammed open and four children poured into the shop. The Them were talking over each other, hustling to Aziraphale who looked like he’d been struck. 

“Is it true, did someone break in?” Brian asked. 

“Was it a ninja?” Adam was quick to insert. 

“I bet this was political,” Pepper insisted. 

“Did they steal any of the books?” Wensleydale looked concerned. 

They all continued to talk over each other until Aziraphale shushed them, the room falling quiet except for the sound of Aziraphale’s heavy sigh. 

“They took your kites, I’m afraid.” 

The children all looked to Adam who considered Aziraphale’s words, then reached out to put a hand on his arm. “S’alright, Mr. Fell. Someone broke in, and we’re going to figure out who it was. Plus, we’ve got some of our other prototypes back at my house. We can try to work with them.” 

Crowley had to admire Adam’s level headedness, but he didn’t miss the way four pairs of little eyes slid over to him. 

“And Mr. Crowley is going to help us,” he announced. “He’s a temporary official member, now.” 

“Oh, is he?” Aziraphale glanced at him, surprise slipping into a sly smile. “Well, that’s exciting, isn’t it. I’m sure you all will get this figured out lickity-split, hm?” 

“Right…” Crowley huffed and glanced at the Them. “After I make a run out to get some things to fix the window.” 

“We’ll get started on the investigation,” Adam said, looking back at Aziraphale. “We’ll find out who did this, I promise.” 

“I believe you.” Aziraphale ruffled Adam’s hair. 

Crowley let the Them start their investigation as he promised to return with the necessary supplies to fix the window. A quick trip to the next town over yielded what he needed. He found plexiglass to put over the broken window until it could get properly fixed, and a few things for his own home. Stowing them in the Bentley, he stared at the passing scenery as he made his way back West. To think, he’d come out to Tadfield to fix up and sell a house, only to get drawn into the strange happenings of a small town. 

Somehow, he didn’t regret it. Or dread it. It was a nice distraction and, in his heart of hearts, he thought he might get used to it. 

It didn’t take long for him get back to Aziraphale with his purchases.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale clapped his hands and smiled when Crowley stepped inside with a small toolkit and the plexiglass. “My hero.” 

Crowley’s cheeks heated. “It is just plexiglass. I wish I could tell you I knew how to fix windows, but this is the best I’ve got.” 

“Your best is more than enough, dear boy, and you’ll need to let me cook you dinner to make up for it.” 

“That’s not necessary,” Crowley insisted. 

“Perhaps not, but I’d like to show my gratitude! Now, is there anything I can do to help?” 

It turned out Aziraphale was useless with tools, so Crowley assigned him to hand him what he asked for as he got up on a step stool and put the plexiglass in place. He attached it to the window frame, making sure it was secure, before he began to seal off the edges with special tape. When it was all said and done he and Aziraphale stood back from the window.

“It’ll do for now,” Aziraphale said, reaching out and taking Crowley’s hand. He squeezed it, and Crowley wondered what would happen if he laced their fingers together and didn’t let go. He didn’t get a chance to, because Aziraphale seemed to remember himself and let it go, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’m just glad I could help.” Crowley slid his hands into his pockets. 

“Dinner will be at six, if you think you can manage it.” Aziraphale glanced at him. “I’m sure you are busy with home repairs.” 

“Dinner at six sounds fine. If I leave now, I might be able to get a few things done so I can dine guilt-free.” 

Aziraphale smiled, his expression soft. “Good.” 

Crowley checked over the window one last time before he returned to the Bentley, rolling his eyes as he saw who was there. 

“Crawley!” Gabriel greeted with one of his exhausting smiles. “You’re getting quite the introduction to our little town.”    
  
“It is Crowley,” he grumbled under his breath, flashing Gabriel a smile that was all teeth. “Quite.” 

“Look, I hate to ask,” something in Gabriel’s face told Crowley that was far from the truth, “but strange things  _ have _ been happening. You don’t know anything about the kites that are going missing, do you? I thought Shadwell was being his usual self but I doubt Aziraphale would break his own window and pretend to have kites stolen.” 

Crowley blinked. “I’m sorry, no. I don’t. Why would I?” 

Gabriel stepped between him and the Bentley, shrugging. “You know, a new face shows up and suddenly kites go missing. It is a bit of a strange coincidence. I had to do my duty and ask.” 

“You think I came all the way to the states,” Crowley said, stepping up toward Gabriel, his temper rising. “To steal bloody  _ kites _ ?” 

He was fine getting up into Gabriel’s space to stare him down. Gabriel’s smile faded. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Crowley growled. “And self-important. Now get the hell away from my car.” 

He walked around Gabriel, making sure to knock their shoulders together as he pulled open the door and got in. Without looking, he started the engine and pulled out of the spot, Gabriel hustling away in his peripheral. Gabriel had left a bad taste in his mouth that he carried all the way back home with him, dragging the items he’d bought at Home Depot into the house. 

Crowley spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning old sealant from around the tub in the downstairs bathroom, scrubbing away the mildew with bleach, and leaving it to dry. He slumped onto the sofa after he was done and thought about getting ready for dinner. He also thought about Gabriel and wondered how anyone would think a grown arse adult would steal  _ kites _ . 

Kites!

He scrubbed the smell of bleach off of himself in the shower and washed his hair, changing into a grey undershirt with a black, short-sleeved button-up that he left unbuttoned. He pulled on dark wash skinny jeans and toweled off his hair, then put some product in it. Despite the sour mood, he was going to show up for dinner, and he was going to look  _ good _ . 

Despite everything in him rebelling against the idea that Aziraphale thought of him as anything but a convenient friend and neighbor. 

As he was shoving his feet into flip-flops he checked his phone. What surprised him was that he had a voicemail, but for some reason he didn’t recall receiving a call. Checking the history, he recognized Gregory’s number and rolled his eyes. He’d probably found something in the office that Crowley needed to pick up, or had some final question about his portfolio. Whatever the case, the bastard could send him his property in the post, and he could fuck off with any other questions. 

Crowley left his phone behind as he walked across the way to Aziraphale’s house, showing up a few minutes before six. He could already smell charcoal, an indication that Aziraphale had fired up his grill once again. Crowley should have brought wine. He rang the doorbell which he heard chime inside, followed by the soft thump of footfalls. 

Aziraphale answered the door, his long curls pulled back into the cutest ponytail. He was dressed in a buttoned-up tropical shirt and a pair of loose knee-length khaki shorts. To put it simply, he was gorgeous, and Crowley stared. 

“Hello, Crowley my dear boy.” Aziraphale smiled, eyebrows raising. Crowley cleared his throat and averted his gaze. 

“Hey. Should I pop back over to mine and get wine?” He realized how strange it was to show up empty handed, even though Aziraphale hadn’t asked him to bring a single thing.

“Not at all! I’ve got plenty, and you’ve already done enough. Come in, come in.” Aziraphale took him by the wrist and guided him inside, shutting the door behind them. “I was setting up on the deck. It is such a lovely evening, I thought we ought to take advantage of it.” 

“Of course.” Crowley followed him out to the deck which, since he’d last been on it, had seen a few upgrades. Mainly, there were twinkle lights wrapped around the railings, on and twinkling. There were also tiki torches lit on either end of the deck. 

“Did a bit of decorating, eh?” Crowley remarked, trying not to focus too much on the table that was set, or the fact there were  _ cloth napkins _ . Did cloth napkins have a special meaning? “Looks nice.” 

“Oh, you think so?” Aziraphale gave him a shy look and a smile, before he puttered over to the grill. “Sit, dear boy, I’ll turn the chicken and get you a drink.” 

As Crowley sat at the table he took a moment to study Aziraphale, not missing the way the twinkle lights reflected off his face in the dying evening light. With the roar of the ocean around them, and the sound of food sizzling, Crowley came to a startling realization: he was smitten. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Thursday (ish). 
> 
> Come follow me on [twitter]() and [tumblr]() for updates n'stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley enjoys dinner with Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha the plot continues to thicken...and Crowley continues to be a wee bit of a mess. Thank you all for your continued comments and kindness. It really does my heart good in these strange, strange times C: 
> 
> Things continue to be wonky. I'll be moving into my new apartment on August 12th, then going back to NYC on the 21st to pack up all my stuff and drive cross-country back here to Oregon. I'm also getting a puppy! Which has been a long time coming, and the stars just happened to align. By the time I finish moving, I'll have a bundle of fluff. I'm very excited. 
> 
> For now, though, here's another chapter. Unbeta'ed because my beta is taking some much needed time out in the wilderness. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Dinner was grilled chicken over a bed of fresh greens, topped with strawberries and crumbled goat cheese. It was amazing. The sweet and the tart and the savory all melded together on Crowley’s tongue, accented by a dry white wine. It was the best thing he’d eaten since he’d gotten to Tadfield, and definitely put his hastily thrown together meals to shame. 

For once, he cleared a plate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. 

“I take it you like it, then?” Aziraphale sat across from him, a napkin spread across his lap. He used it to dab at his mouth after almost every bite, seeming to savor when Crowley preferred to scarf it all down. He took another bite and chewed, his eyes fluttering as if it were a perfectly cooked steak from the Ritz and not chicken with strawberries. 

He was beautiful. Crowley thought he could watch him eat for hours and never get bored. 

“Delicious.” Crowley took another drink of wine. “You really are quite the cook.” 

“Oh, well. After moving out here it felt like there was a bit more space for it. This little home had such a lovely kitchen it seemed a waste not to use it.” Aziraphale took a drink and Crowley watched his throat work as he swallowed. “So I bought some cookbooks and took a class further inland and here we are.” 

“The class paid off.” Crowley sat back in his chair and glanced in the direction of the ocean. He couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. 

“I’m glad you think so.” Aziraphale sat up a little taller and if Crowley didn’t know any better, he’d say he was preening under the praise. “I’m happy I can impress guests.” 

Was he happy he could impress Crowley in particular? Crowley cleared his throat and drowned the question in a long sip of wine. “What’s life been like out here for you?” 

“Calm, outside of chasing away tourists and dealing with kite thefts.” Aziraphale huffed. “It is a different way of living out here. Simpler. Slower. I can take a stroll on the beach even in the dead of winter and it is comfortable enough. It is certainly better than the near constant rain back home.” 

“Are you going to stay out here for good?” 

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in thought as he peered just beyond Crowley. “I think so. I mean, nothing is set in stone, of course, but Tadfield has been good for me. I enjoy it, and I’m not sure I’d ever move back to London. Perhaps I’d consider retiring out in the countryside somewhere, if I get tired of America.” 

Silence lapsed between them, the wind rustling through trees and the roar of the distance ocean keeping them company. Was it really fair for Crowley to be smitten when he planned to go back to London? Obviously, Aziraphale didn’t have those plans. But he liked him, and he thought Aziraphale might like him in return. 

Anathema came to mind, then. Out of towners. Aziraphale. Crowley wouldn’t be the first, and from what little he’d heard, the first hadn’t turned out so well. He frowned. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale laid a hand over his on the table and offered him a concerned smile. “You looked lost in thought. Care to share?” 

Crowley swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and stood up abruptly, startling Aziraphale. “I need to use the bathroom.” 

Before letting Aziraphale get another word out, Crowley disappeared into the house and found the bathroom. He shut the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath. His hand tingled from where Aziraphale had touched it, warmth lingering when he really wished it wouldn’t. 

He used the bathroom for the sake of keeping up appearances and then washed his hands, splashing water on his face afterward. Crowley reached for his pocket, meaning to grab his phone, only to remember he’d left it back at the house. What a stupid idea. 

A knock came on the bathroom door. “Crowley? I...I wanted to check on you.” 

Crowley grimaced because Aziraphale sounded so uncertain, like he had done something wrong. No, Crowley wanted to tell him, it was just his stupid brain going on the fritz because he didn’t know how to interact with a handsome man expressing interest in him. 

“I’m sorry if I overreached,” Aziraphale continued. “I certainly hope I didn’t upset you.” 

Crowley reached over and opened the door, letting it swing in. Aziraphale looked startled, then concerned. 

“You didn’t,” Crowley insisted.

“Well, I apologize for finding that difficult to believe when you ran from the dinner table after I touched you.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “I - I didn’t necessarily mean anything by it. I was concerned.” 

“Angel, really -” 

“Angel.” Aziraphale’s expression softened and he glanced away, cheeks red. Crowley was quiet. “You said before it was the hair.” 

Crowley huffed. “It is. And the fact you cook, and you slather aloe vera on someone who is a practical stranger, and give them Gatorade…” 

Aziraphale let his arms drop away from his chest and then held a hand out, not quite making eye contact. “Would you come back to the living room with me, my dear? I...well. That is, of course, if you’d like to even stay.” 

How could he say no to that? He hesitated for only a moment before he reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand, savoring the way Aziraphale’s fingers closed around his. He was led to the living room, not back out to the deck, and settled beside Aziraphale on a love seat. 

“I have to admit, I may have had an ulterior motive for inviting you tonight.” Aziraphale sat facing forward with his hands in his lap. Crowley felt like he was sprawling beside him, unable to keep his long legs together. 

“Oh?” 

“I have to say I...I quite enjoy your company. I was hoping, perhaps, to steal a bit more time with you.” How could someone dance around the heart of what they were trying to say so easily? Or, perhaps Crowley was reading too far into it. Maybe Aziraphale just wanted a friend. He wasn’t about to make any declarations of romantic interest, right? Who would do that for Crowley? 

Crowley was good for a quick shag and not much else. At least, that’s what experience had taught him. 

“I say all that to say, well, I was hoping you might like to go on a date with me?” 

Crowley’s heart stopped and he glanced over at Aziraphale, then to the coffee table, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded against his ribs once it started beating again. A date. Aziraphale wanted to go on a date? What was their current predicament, then? Would he have to do it all over again, this time assuming they’d end up in bed? 

Obviously that’s all anyone could want. Crowley wasn’t boyfriend material. He’d tried to be, but he was too nervous, too clingy. He needed too much. He liked to buy flowers and chocolates and shower people with affection only to be told it really wasn’t “like that” and he was under a misconception. 

“Oh dear, Crowley, breathe.” 

Crowley realized he was panicking, and in the midst of it there was a hand on his back guiding him to lean forward so his head was between his legs. It felt better to be there, blood and oxygen rushing back to his head as he took large gulps of air. Aziraphale’s hand rubbed his back. 

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale began. “I shouldn’t have sprung such a thing on you. Of course you wouldn’t want to be romantic. Here I am, inviting you to dinner under false pretenses. It was entirely unfair.” 

“Shut up,” Crowley managed to get out, Aziraphale’s hand stilling on his back. “That isn’t - that isn’t it.” 

Aziraphale was quiet, his hand resuming its rubbing. Silence stretched as Crowley pieced together the trail that had led them both to that very moment. Finally, he sat up and could speak. 

“Of course I’d go on a date with you.” Crowley stared down at his feet. “I just...I don’t want it to be a - a fling.” 

He grimaced. He’d made do with flings in the past, hadn’t he? Anything to get hands on his skin, or in his hair, lips on his. Anything to get a little bit of affection he was so desperate for. Too desperate for, really. 

“Of course not.” Aziraphale moved his hand from his back to his knee and squeezed. “Crowley, I don’t want it to be a fling either.” 

“I don’t know if I’m staying here,” Crowley admitted, looking at Aziraphale. “There’s...there’s a lot of unknowns.” 

“Quite.” Aziraphale chewed on that. He was about to speak again when there was a knock on the front door that drew his attention. Crowley perked up as well. “Er. Wait here, my dear. I ought to go answer that.” 

Just like that, Crowley was left sitting alone on a love seat as Aziraphale disappeared into the short hall that led to the front door. He listened as the door opened. 

“Oh, Gabriel.” Aziraphale sounded surprised and Crowley was on his feet and padding toward the door. Gabriel’s broad figure filled it and he was frowning. 

“The newcomer is here with you, then.” Somehow, Gabriel looked disappointed. “Then that means we’ve got a bigger problem. There’s been another break in.” 

“At the bookshop?” Aziraphale and Crowley asked as one. 

“No, not at the bookshop.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Someone broke into the Maiden. Apparently Marjorie was keeping a kite she planned to enter. She was helping the Johnson boy and his little gang.” 

“Is she alright?” Aziraphale asked. 

“She’s fine. A bit shaken, since it happened while the establishment was open. I guess she was keeping the items in the back breakroom and someone got in through the back door. The cook didn’t see anything.” 

“Did you call the police?” Crowley asked. 

Gabriel scoffed. “Sure. They said they’d add the incident to the police report, but unless Marjorie wanted a breaking and entering investigation, there wasn’t anything they could do.” 

“Helpful.” Aziraphale sighed, then seemed to realize something. “Wait a moment, were you coming here to accuse Crowley?” 

Gabriel paled. “I was pursuing a lead.” 

“A lead?” Aziraphale asked, stepping toward Gabriel who took a step back. “A lead that made you feel like you could accuse a new resident of Tadfield of theft?” 

“Well, he wasn’t home!” Gabriel pointed out. 

“Neither, I’m sure, are a number of the residents.” Aziraphale scowled, hands on his hips. Crowley was quietly turned on by Aziraphale’s authoritative posture. 

“Yes but they’re…” 

“What, Gabriel? They’re what?” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Forget it. What’s important is that the planning committee is having an emergency meeting in an hour. It would behoove you to be there.” 

Crowley perked up at that. They were calling an emergency meeting due to kite thefts? Perhaps Tadfield took the kite festival even more seriously than he thought. He heard Aziraphale let out a long sigh and watched him falter under Gabriel’s expectations. 

“Of course. Let me get things settled here and I’ll meet you all at the offices.” 

“Excellent.” Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the shoulders and Crowley was compelled to growl. He didn’t get to take liberty with touch like that, neither should Gabriel. Especially when Aziraphale flinched as a result. 

At least Gabriel left after that, returning to his pretentious Lexus. Aziraphale shut the front door and turned to Crowley with an apologetic smile. “It seems you’ve come to Tadfield just in time for a dramatic mystery, my dear. I’m only sorry it is interrupting our dinner.” 

And their conversation from earlier, about a date. He wondered if they’d ever get back to that, or if he’d hallucinated the whole thing. In the midst of his worrying, Aziraphale took his hand. 

“I hope we can continue our conversation. Perhaps tomorrow you could come by the bookshop?” 

“Yes.” It tumbled out of Crowley’s mouth before he could stop it. “Yes. Absolutely. I will.” 

“Lovely.” Aziraphale looked relieved. “Then I’m afraid I should say farewell to you, if I’m to clean up and get to this ever-so-important meeting.” He huffed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Gabriel was purposely sabotaging me.” 

Crowley didn’t get a chance to ask more about  _ that _ as Aziraphale headed back to the deck, presumably to clean up. “I can help!” He hustled after him. 

“Please, tonight was supposed to be about you.” Aziraphale tried to wave him off, but Crowley batted down his hand. 

“And I want to help. So let me help.” 

“If you insist.” Aziraphale handed him the stacked plates. “Be a dear and take those into the kitchen. I’ll follow after.” 

Together, it took them about fifteen minutes to clean up from dinner. Aziraphale liked to wipe down the counters and make sure the sink was clean before he declared it finished. Crowley liked to watch him fuss. 

When it was done, Crowley’s hands were pruney and the front of his shirt was wet, but Aziraphale offered him an unguarded smile and it was worth it. 

“We could count this as the first date,” he said, surprising himself. Aziraphale considered his words and stepped over to him, pinning him to the counter with his mere presence. 

“Could we?” Aziraphale tapped his chin with a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know. We didn’t declare it a date to start…” 

“There’s no real rules about all that.” 

“Are you sure?” 

Crowley hesitated. “Yes.” 

“You don’t sound sure.” Aziraphale smoothed down the front of Crowley’s shirt as if they did this all the time. As if shamelessly flirting in Aziraphale’s kitchen was the norm. 

“I am.” 

“Then yes. Though I think I deserve a farewell kiss…” 

“We’d have to say farewell, first.” 

“Oh, well then.” Aziraphale poked Crowley’s side to make him curl in on himself with a squeak, then pushed his back and guided him toward the door. “We better get you out on your way.” 

“Oi!” Crowley laughed as he went along with the shoves. “Literally pushy there, angel.” 

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale lost steam near the door and let out a huff. “I’m sorry, I am being rather pushy. I don’t mean to be, really, I -” 

Crowley leaned in and kissed him with just a brief touch of lips, enough to quiet him. He felt Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath, followed by Aziraphale’s hand against his cheek. 

“I like pushy,” Crowley admitted, barely a whisper against Aziraphale’s lips. 

They kissed again, surer that time, followed by a third and final press of lips. Aziraphale searched his face, smiled, and gave his chest a pat. 

“Now then, off you go.” 

“Right, right. Farewell kiss and all that.” Crowley opened the door and stepped outside before he paused and turned. “Thanks for dinner.” 

“Thank you for being understanding. I’ll be sure to update you on the kite situation tomorrow. Come by the bookshop anytime.” 

“I will. I promise.” With a little wave, Crowley turned and walked across the street, back to his home, and his cell phone where an unheard voicemail lay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT/UPDATE:** just a quick note to anyone stalking this piece, the update will either be up tomorrow or postponed until next week. I managed to wrench my shoulder playing with the dog and after spending all day working virtually, I've had a hard time sitting at the computer some more while it aches. It is feeling better, so I might get the chapter up tomorrow. But if there's no update tomorrow, there WILL be an update the following Thursday.
> 
> Updates every Thursday. 
> 
> Come hang with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/), especially if you want puppy updates.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale hears from the kite festival committee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I skipped last week, folks. I'm in this strange spot where I'm working from home, moving into a new apartment, and preparing for the big cross-country move. On top of that, we're on vacation, and I got an additional side-job request from a grad school professor. So needless to say, I've been busy! As such, chapters for this period of time will be _every other week_ until I'm settled in my new apartment in Oregon. 
> 
> For now, here's a chapter from Aziraphale's POV!
> 
> Enjoy.

Aziraphale had secured a date, which had been his plan for the evening. He was elated. There was something about Crowley that drew him in, and he was glad to know the feeling was mutual. 

Despite the whole kite debacle ruining what he had hoped would be a long evening, Aziraphale contented himself with the promise of what came next. In the meantime, he donned a pair of proper trousers and a button-up shirt and bowtie before he slipped into his shoes and made his way down to town hall. 

In his books, the town hall had always been an old place. Something with a neoclassical twist, perhaps, with columns. Tadfield town hall was nothing more than an old one-story office building that may, at one point, have been a dentist office. Through the front door was a reception area where there were a few meagre brochures about Tadfield, and a lot of brochures about the surrounding areas, even as far south as Orange County and Disneyland. 

There were also pictures, supposedly of Tadfield’s history. Aziraphale had tried to learn a bit more about it but Gabriel didn’t have much patience for his questions, and it seemed the town lacked anyone with historical know-how. Books on Tadfield were few and far between. So, he glanced over black and white photos of nameless figures on the beach as he made his way down the hall and to the left, into a large conference room. 

He was the last one to arrive, it seemed. The rest of the planning committee was already there. Gabriel sat at the head of the table, and to his right was the deputy mayor who accepted the title begrudgingly. Beez, as Aziraphale knew them, was an unpleasant sort. They had a constant glower, and an eye roll for every situation. They had a ragged mop of back hair, a crooked nose, and a bad case of constant eczema. 

Yet, despite their unpleasant demeanor, Aziraphale liked them far more than he liked Gabriel. At least Beez didn’t pretend to be polite. Their eyes flicked from their phone screen to Aziraphale, then back again. To Gabriel’s left was Aziraphale’s least favorite person in the world, a gentleman named Sandalphon. He oversaw the small credit union in town. Despite being one of the sponsors of that year’s kite festival, Aziraphale wasn’t a fan. 

Sandalphon tended to give off old school mafia vibes, like he was two steps away from putting cinder blocks on someone’s feet and dropping them off of a pier. He also tended to rule rather conservatively when it came to introducing new things to the festival. There was something about him that Aziraphale didn’t like, something about his tendency to think he could buy his way into scenarios he approved of. Despite that, he was the reason there was such a high monetary prize for this year’s festival, an attempt to celebrate the 50th anniversary in style. 

He was also against inviting food trucks to the festival, which Aziraphale thought was a bit ridiculous. 

The final member of the council was Marjorie Tracy, or Madame Tracy anywhere outside of the council room. Her tavern usually sponsored the drinks for the event, which earned her a seat at the table. She was Aziraphale’s favorite, always coming with the best ideas, even if Gabriel and Sandalphon shot them down. She also looked upset, her brow crinkled in worry. It was hardly surprising, given the news of the break-in.

“Nice of you to join us,” Gabriel said in lieu of a greeting. Aziraphale sighed. 

“Well, it was rather last minute, and I was entertaining.” Aziraphale sat down at the table, hands folded in his lap. 

“Right.” Gabriel dismissed the thought with a wave. “We don’t need to know about your personal life with the out-of-towner. We were just discussing the current string of kite thefts.” 

Aziraphale ignored the kite pun, and the slight, despite wanting to point both out. 

“I think you’re overreacting,” Beez pointed out, looking up from their phone again. 

“Hardly an overreaction.” Madame Tracy frowned. “Someone broke into the Maiden.”    
  
“S’not as if they took anything of importance.” 

“The kites  _ are _ important,” Tracy retorted. “The children work so hard on them.” 

“They’ll get over it.” 

“That isn’t the point -” 

“Look,” Gabriel broke in. “Arguing will get us nowhere. We need to decide what we’re going to do about the situation. I don’t like it anymore than the next person, that someone is going around doing something as ridiculous as stealing kites. However, if we can’t figure out who it is, perhaps we should eliminate the competition altogether this year.” 

“I don’t think we need to take it that far,” Aziraphale began. 

“That’s hardly the conclusion to come to,” Tracy added. 

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose as Sandalphon sat up in his chair. 

“Perhaps it is time to do something a little more formal. Perhaps instead of a kite competition we could host a concert. Let the kites be secondary, part of the tradition. We could get some good marketing done for the town at a concert.” Sandalphon looked pleased with his suggestion. 

“That isn’t the point of the festival.” Aziraphale frowned and glanced at Tracy, before he looked at Gabriel. “The point, as you should know Gabriel, is to bring people together around something that is uniquely created by the people of Tadfield. The festival is a much loved event, and I don’t think most of the people in this town would be content with a concert instead.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but think about how hard the children had worked on their kite, or how excited they got every year as their designs became more advanced. Adam had worked with Wensleydale to learn some embroidery so they could decorate the fabric of theirs, and all that work was gone. Lost to someone who clearly didn’t understand the point of the festival. 

“Eliminate the prize.” Beez was the one who spoke up and everyone looked over. “The money part, anyway. Keep the trophy. I bet the only reason anyone is pitching a fit is because of the money.” 

“Why would someone do that?” Aziraphale’s brow wrinkled as he considered it. “Five hundred dollars divided by a team of at least four is a decent sum, but I can’t imagine it is worth all of this.” 

“Of course someone like you would be surprised by what people would do for money.” Sandalphon scoffed. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Aziraphale asked, a low, simmering anger beginning in his gut. 

Sandalphon looked Aziraphale over with an eye roll. “Just that you shouldn’t underestimate the things people do for money.” 

“Ridiculous. Gabriel, what is the point of this meeting?” Aziraphale turned back to him. “Are we actually here to solve something, or are we just going to take pot shots?” 

“I’m open to ideas.” Gabriel shrugged. “Otherwise, I’m at a bit of a stand still.” 

“I’ll investigate it.” Aziraphale sat up straight with his shoulders back. 

“You?” Gabriel tilted his head. 

“Yes. The kite I was helping with was one of the ones stolen, after all.” 

Gabriel considered it, then glanced at Sandalphon, and Beez, finally at Tracy. “What do we all think?” 

“I think it is a sound idea, and I’ll help.” Tracy smiled in Aziraphale’s direction. 

“Whatever.” Beez went back to their phone. 

“I think it is a waste of time, but if Aziraphale wants to, let him have his little investigation.” 

“Then it is settled.” Gabriel tapped the table like a judge with a gavel. “Aziraphale, you have two days to figure out some sort of lead. Otherwise, we’re going to look at changing or canceling the competitive part of the kite festival. I don’t want to see anymore of these break-ins happening.” 

“Of course.” Two days certainly didn’t seem like enough time, but Aziraphale kept his fretting to himself. The meeting was dismissed, Gabriel lingering to chat quietly with Sandalphon as Aziraphale, Beez, and Tracy all left together. 

“Good luck.” Beez offered a flick of their wrist in farewell before they walked off. Aziraphale watched them go and then jumped when Tracy set a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re a good man, Aziraphale.” She smiled at him. “I really hope we can figure this out.” 

He returned her smile, though it was half-hearted. “I hope so, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every other Thursday for the time being. 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels) and [tumblr](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/).
> 
>  **UPDATE 8/27:** MOVING CROSS COUNTRY IS CRAZY. I have used so much packing tape that the sound of it lulls me into a muscle memory fugue state of applying it to boxes in a particularly way. With that said, being back and packing up my NYC life has taken a lot more energy than I thought it would. So this story is going to be on hold until I'm done moving, because it was starting to stress me out feeling like I had to write it....when really, right now my focus is on getting back home! Thanks for your understanding.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finally listens to his voicemail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well HELLO. It has been a minute, that's for sure. I'm sorry for the long absence. It turns out getting a puppy and moving cross-country really does take a toll. Once I got here, my days were spent working, potty training my new puppy, and zoning out to random youtube shows. Needless to say, writing took a while. 
> 
> But I'm back in it now, and excited to share the latest chapter. Updates will still be every _other_ Thursday for the time being, but here we are! Back at it. 
> 
> Enjoy.

_ Anthony _ , the voicemail began with Gregory’s familiar voice.  _ We may have acted in haste letting you go. I’d like to discuss the potential of a rehire. Give me a call back as soon as possible _ .

Crowley listened to the voicemail three times before he dropped onto the couch and let his phone bounce off of the cushion beside him. He could have his job back. His life back. London could be his again. 

It didn’t excite him as much as he wanted it to. As much as it  _ should _ . This is what he had hoped for, wasn’t it? For everything to go back to normal? But somehow, in the few weeks he’d been in Tadfield, his new normal had become focused around a certain angelic man who lived across the street. 

He gazed up at the ceiling. “Is this a joke to you?” 

Of course, he wasn’t asking anyone in particular. Not really. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if God was listening, or if She even cared. Why would the world give him someone like Aziraphale, who wanted to try a relationship with him, who was cute and sweet and could cook...and then at the same time offer him his job back? He scrubbed a hand over his face, deciding it was entirely unfair and he shouldn’t have to consider such things without a glass of wine in hand. 

Making his way to the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of red and popped it open, pouring a generous glass. He stood at the kitchen counter and sipped it, his mind reeling with the new opportunity presented to him. Tadfield, or London? His old life, or a new one in the states? His current situation was so new to him it seemed like it would be simple to slip back into the life he had. 

Yet, that life hadn’t really made him  _ happy _ , had it? Not as happy as he was getting caught in the waves and hearing Aziraphale’s laughter, or as happy as he was when Aziraphale fussed over his sunburn. It was nice to have someone actively interested, and Tadfield wasn’t  _ bad _ . It was a little hokey, with kite festivals and coffee shops by the sea, but it also seemed like the sort of place that might be good for settling. 

Settling. Jesus, what had he become? He downed his wine and poured more, pacing with the glass in his hand as his mind went wild. He was almost done with the bottle when a knock came at the door. He grunted and walked over, wine glass still in hand, and opened the door. 

He was surprised to see Aziraphale there, his smile fading as he took Crowley in. “Dear boy, are you alright?” 

“Peachy.” His tongue felt heavy. It had been a while since he’d had a whole bottle of wine himself and it was catching up to him quickly. “What can I do you for?” 

“Well…” Aziraphale looked torn, his brow furrowing. “I thought we might discuss the whole kite debacle, but you look like your mind is elsewhere.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. What would Aziraphale think about the scenario? He swayed a bit on his feet and Aziraphale’s hands were there to steady him, concern on his face. 

“Come, dear boy, let’s have you sit down.” 

Crowley allowed Aziraphale to lead him to the couch, where he was guided down onto a cushion, the wine glass removed from his hand and set aside. Then, Aziraphale sat beside him, a warm, steady presence. 

There was silence for a moment, which made Crowley itch. He hated silence, especially when he was the one expected to speak. 

“I think they want to offer me my job back,” he blabbed, knowing Aziraphale didn’t have context for the whole thing. “London. I was laid off. Parted ways. Now they want me back.” 

The resulting silence was like a heavy blanket. Aziraphale laid a tentative hand on Crowley’s knee. “I know you’re a bit inebriated, but you may need to fill me in on why that is worth drowning in a bottle of wine?” 

“I was let go because I’m  _ gay _ . It would have been fine, but then I accidentally had a fling with someone who was a client, and it - apparently it didn’t look good. I wasn’t good for optics. Openly gay? At a firm that serves a lot of people who would rather not think about people like me?” Crowley hunched forward, his head swimming. Now the emotions bubbled to the surface, the ones he’d stuffed down. The hurt, the shame. The question of how he could have not screwed it all up.

He put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and groaned. “I buggered it all up. My whole career.”    
  
Aziraphale huffed. “I hardly think you buggered your whole career,” he insisted. “And to be honest, it sounds like they were the ones in the wrong. Who lets someone go for being gay in twenty-twenty?” 

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale had a point. It was illegal, to start. And ridiculous. It was the 21st Century after all, but Crowley still felt some guilt that he’d unknowingly slept with a client. So he shrugged, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Aziraphale’s hand start to rub up and down his back. 

“Now, I’m completely biased,” Aziraphale began. “Because I think you’re handsome, and lovely, and clever, but I really do think you might be better off without the job. Even if you went back to London and took another one, or found something elsewhere, just the fact they fired you for your personal life is enough to make me think they don’t deserve you.” 

“Would you want me to go back to London?” Crowley asked, knowing it was a stupid question the moment it left his lips. Why would Aziraphale care what he did? It wasn’t as if they were in a real relationship. So what, they’d had one discussion about trying it, but...it was hardly a commitment. No one wanted to commit to Crowley.

“No,” Aziraphale answered, adding his nails to lightly scratch Crowley’s back. “I wouldn’t. But I never want the people I like to leave. It happens anyway.” 

Crowley glanced over at him to find Aziraphale staring out at nothing, his hand continuing its gentle path over Crowley’s back. “This isn’t the first time you’ve fallen for someone from out of town.” 

“Anathema, I assume?” Aziraphale shook his head, his hand stilling against Crowley’s back. “She’s always worried for me, dear thing that she is. I’m afraid there’s not a lot of prospects here in town, so I have a tendency to get excited when someone new arrives. Not - not always for a relationship, of course. It is just nice to have someone new, someone not from Tadfield. I had one man, when I was younger, who...well. He made a lot of promises.” 

Crowley slowly sat back and then leaned into Aziraphale’s side, chancing that physical touch on his end of things might do some good. Aziraphale seemed receptive, letting his arm slip around Crowley to pull him closer. 

“Long story short, he chose to leave, and I wasn’t invited.” Aziraphale’s smile was sad as his gaze dropped to the floor. “To think, I might have gone with him if he’d asked. It was a silly fling.” 

“He was an idiot,” Crowley grumbled, delicately resting his cheek against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Much like your old employer, I imagine.” 

Crowley huffed a laugh and closed his eyes. His head was uncomfortable, his face hot. “I drank too much.” 

“You certainly did, poor dear.” Aziraphale reached up and carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Why don’t I get you some water?” 

“Hng.” Crowley leaned away and Aziraphale slipped off the couch. When he returned, he pressed a cold glass into his hands. 

“Drink.” 

“Yeah.” Crowley drank, the water soothing his throat. He dunked his fingers in a splashed a little on his face, then set the glass aside. “You came over to tell me about kites.” 

“I certainly did, though I imagine it is a conversation that could wait for the morning.” 

“Sorry.” Crowley sighed. 

Aziraphale tsk’ed as he settled down beside him, then grabbed a pillow. Crowley watched through squinted eyes as Aziraphale set the pillow on his lap and then guided Crowley down so that he was lying on his side, head on the pillow in his lap. “Nothing to apologize for. How about you settle in and I tell you about the meeting, and we see how much you remember in the morning.” 

“Y’don’t have to.” 

“No, but I think I’d like to.” Aziraphale’s fingers threaded through Crowley’s hair, beginning to gently pet him. Crowley melted. “Now, I suppose I ought to start with the meeting. There’s a little council that oversees the festival…” 

Crowley listened for only a few minutes before he started to drift, Aziraphale’s words becoming background noise. He’d have to ask about it in the morning. Would Aziraphale still be there? He shouldn’t have had so much to drink…

Then he was out. 

**

Aziraphale kept speaking long after he knew Crowley was asleep, mostly for the sake of getting to stay nearby. He pet through Crowley’s locks as he finished telling his story, admiring the way the red hair slipped through his fingers. Crowley’s cheeks were red, lips slightly parted, and his hair an awful mess after Aziraphale’s petting. Yet, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone else nearly as handsome. 

Crowley had a sharp nose and nice cheekbones, which Aziraphale took a moment to trace with his fingertip, ghosting along the skin. He had a kind heart, too, as evidenced by his angst over whether or not he ought to leave. Aziraphale hoped, whatever his decision, Crowley would find peace in it.

Though he really didn’t want Crowley to go back to the awful place that had fired him for his orientation. How could anyone who was queer work there after that? Sighing, Aziraphale traced the shell of Crowley’s ear. Oh well. It would be his choice, not Aziraphale’s. It wasn’t as if it would be the first time he’d watched something lovely slip away. 

Carefully, Aziraphale slipped out from beneath Crowley and made sure to lower his head back to the couch, pillow and all. He snatched a moth-eaten throw blanket off the back of it and draped it over him, tucking it in. Aziraphale brushed his hair back one more time, admiring Crowley’s relaxed face, before he busied himself refilling the water and tracking down aspirin. He left both of them on the table with a note to take it in the morning and come visit. 

He locked the doorknob on the way out and made sure the door shut firmly behind him. It was night, but the streetlights illuminated a path to his cottage, where a gaggle of youths known as The Them stood, bikes in the yard, flashlights in hand. 

“A bit late for you lot to be up, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked as he walked over and unlocked his front door, reaching in to flick on the porch light. 

“Our parents said we could come here,” Adam insisted. “We heard there was a meeting about the kites.” 

“There was.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. “And?” 

“Actually, we’re investigating,” Wensleydale said. “And Ms. Tracy wouldn’t give us any details.” 

“So you’ve come to me instead?” Aziraphale was amused by that. He didn’t think he would be more forthcoming than Tracy. 

“Yeah, obviously,” Pepper added, mirroring Aziraphale’s crossed arms. 

“How about this,” because it was late, and Aziraphale wasn’t up to entertaining the children. “Come morning, we have a meeting at the bookshop. I’ll share what few details I have, and we’ll come up with a plan.” 

Brian glanced at Adam, as did Pepper and Wensleydale. Adam seemed to consider the offer and then nodded. “Alright. Tomorrow, then. Will Mr. Crowley be there?” 

Aziraphale offered them a small smile. “I certainly hope so, dears.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every other Thursday. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://twitter.com/likelyshovels>twitter</a>%20and%20<a%20href=).


End file.
